


La Rata

by Flantastic



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Anal Sex, Detective Noir, Detective!Bond, Drug Use, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, POV First Person, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Retrospective, Stripper!Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flantastic/pseuds/Flantastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourteen years ago James Bond lied to the man he loves and now that lie has come back to haunt him.  </p><p>As the time approaches for him to confess what he did, he thinks back to the events that led to them meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [releasetheglitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/releasetheglitch/gifts).



> This fic is part of the 00Q NYP Exchange and was written for cassellate. The prompt was:
> 
> Noir detective!Bond meets stripper!Q at a club where he investigates the brutal murders of several young men.
> 
> \- Q is a brilliant University student  
> \- James Bond is the same alcoholic, self-destructive mess we all know and love  
> \- Minimal angst of the relationship variety but bring on everything else  
> \- No unhappy ending, Q or Bond/other, or fandom crossovers (Bondlock, etc), please!
> 
> remember you don’t have to include all the extras (+). However they listed  
> smut, hurt/comfort, Alternate Universe [The "alternate universe" part should be pretty clear from the prompt (Bond as a detective, Q as a stripper/University student)]  
> as must haves, with the following nice to haves:  
> fluff, kink [crossdressing, BDSM, roleplay are all great, in any form or amount], violence, torture, humiliation (non-kinky), sarcasm
> 
>  
> 
> I had so much fun with this, I can't even tell you. I hope it does the prompt justice!
> 
> The fic is complete and is five chapters long. I'm hoping to update every day, if real life allows me to! I think I've covered all the necessary tagging but I may add more as I go.
> 
> EDIT; Thank you thank you thank you to the splendid releasetheglitch/cassellate for the awesome artwork. Isn't it wonderful? *sigh* <3
> 
> ANOTHER EDIT; I'll admit, I suck so badly it's taken me almost a year to dedicate this to the right name on here. What a spanner. ;D

 

30th July 1969

I received a letter and a newspaper clipping this morning from an old friend in New York.  I think that my life as I know it is about to end.  Fourteen years ago I told a lie.  The clipping will expose it and I just don’t know what to do.  It’s going to hurt the person I love more than anything in the world.  

I never wanted to write my memoirs, Lord knows I could have done though.  The things I got up to in the Royal Navy and as a police detective…  But no.  I’ve never wanted to remember what I was like back then.  I wasn’t a good person.  He made me good.  Maybe writing everything down will help though.  Maybe making myself remember just what it was like back in the Summer of ‘55, when we first met, will help me find a way to tell him without breaking his heart.

Let me start from the very beginning.  My name is Bond, James Bond, and I was born on the 11th of November 1920.  

I spent the early years of my life living on the family estate, Skyfall, in Scotland.  It’s a harsh landscape up there.  You froze half to death in the winter and got eaten half to death by the midges in the summer.  I loved it though.  My parents, Andrew Bond and Monique Delacroix-Bond, were both ardent adventurers and they encouraged me to explore the landscape, teaching me to hunt, fish and ride almost by the time I could walk.   My happy little world shattered shortly after my eleventh birthday when my parents died in a climbing accident in the French Alps.  For a spell our gamekeeper Kincade and his wife looked after me but before long I was shipped off to a small village near Kent and the care of an aunt I barely knew.

When I was 15 I ran away and joined the Royal Navy, lying about my age so they’d take me.  Four years later war broke out and I found myself stationed off the coast of Morocco.  I suppose you could say that I had a quiet war; I didn’t die in any case.  On the day the war ended we were anchored next to the USS Hancock and let me tell you, those Yanks knew how to throw one hell of a party.  I got pretty well sozzled, if truth be told.  Maybe that’s why I didn’t have the sense to realise how heated the row between one of our chaps and an American pilot was getting.  Or why I didn’t run when he pulled out a pistol.

One minute I was dancing the St. Louis Shag with a couple of sailors I’d just met and the next I was laid out on the deck.  I expect I was lucky that I wasn’t killed and that the American’s ship’s surgeon happened to be in the room but it didn’t really feel that way.  The shot was a through and through which clipped my lung and shattered a couple of ribs.  The surgeon saved me, first by staunching the bleeding and then by successfully removing a shard of the bullet which had lodged by my heart.  I spent six months in a military hospital based in a big country estate in Devon before being demobbed on medical grounds.

I was clueless as to what I should do next.  I’d loved the Navy and assumed I’d spend my entire working life with them.  After travelling around aimlessly I eventually found myself in London and bought myself a small house in Twickenham.  My parents had been wealthy and I’d inherited the lot when I turned 25.  I could have comfortably lived off my investments but I felt the need to do something constructive with my life.  It was quite by chance that I bumped into my old Chief Petty Officer, Gareth Mallory.  He’d just joined the Met and encouraged me to do the same.  I enrolled as a police officer in 1947.

Life on the Force was good for a while.  I came up through the ranks quickly, making detective within two years.  I was partnered with a great young lad named Billy Tanner and everything should have been perfect.

Except…

Except I’d always been a drinker.  I used to blame my Scottish roots for my love of spirits.  What started as a social thing in the Navy, each of us saving up our weekly rum quota for one drunken night a week, progressed to an exercise in pain-killing during my rehabilitation.  Some nights the drugs just didn’t cut it.  By the time I was working with Billy it was a habit, pure and simple.  I’d get up and have a dram or two as a fortifier before breakfast.  I took to carrying a hip flask when I was working and downing the rest of the bottle when I knocked off for the night.  Any pleasure I might have had from drinking became distant memory.  I was constantly trembling, waiting for my next swallow.  I’d duck out of interviews with suspects to drink.  I’d make excuses during stakeouts to sneak off and find a pub.  I even stole a bottle of gin from the scene of a murder once.

Billy was a good boy and he always said I was a great detective but there was only so much he could stand.  When I turned up late for the third time in a week, dishevelled and reeking of booze, he told me straight; sort myself out.  He’d covered up for me enough, he said, and he wasn’t going to do it anymore.  I assured him I would cut back on my drinking.  I assured him I was in control.  I assured him I wouldn’t screw up again.

I lied.

Three weeks later I was up in front of Mallory, he was my department head by then, and two days after that I was out on my ear.  I tried to apologise to Billy as I was being escorted out of the building but he turned his back on me.  Unsurprisingly, when I left Scotland Yard I crawled straight into a bottle.

A few weeks later I was woken by a knock on my front door.  I opened it and was greeted by the sight of a smart middle-aged woman.  She’d been to Scotland Yard, she said.  Her husband kept disappearing and she wanted to know what he was up to.  The constable on the front desk had been very rude to her but a nice man by the name of Tanner had recommended me and said I might be able to help.  For a moment I almost told her to fuck off but something stopped me.  So instead I invited her in, quickly cleared up the empty bottles in the front room, and told her to tell me what she knew.  Within a week I gave her the name, address and social security number of her husband’s other wife.

More clients followed and I set up quite the little business.  I didn’t advertise but most of Scotland Yard got to hear of what I was up to and word of mouth is a great employer.  Eventually I got fed up of people coming into my home and I set up an office in Vauxhall by the railway station.  It was a dingy little place that smelt of old grease thanks to the café next door but it was good enough for my purposes.  Don’t be fooled though, my new career as a private detective didn’t stop me from drinking but it did slow me down to no more than a bottle a day.  Instead of descending into hopeless alcoholism I remained a miserable, washed-up sot.

Reading what I’ve just written, it’s crazy to think that all of that happened before I was 36 and it’s hard to think that I’d all but given up on life at that age.  The one pervading memory I have of that period in my life is of just how fucking tired I was all the time.  The drinking was getting me down and, if truth be told, I was lonely.  I’d never married or even courted a girl seriously.  I’d occasionally pick one up at a dancehall but more often I’d pick up a prostitute.  Those girls were better in many ways.  They didn’t expect to be called again.  Or if they did, I had to have the money up front.  My work took me into the dark underbelly of London.  I dealt with cheats and liars and thieves and I was sick of it.  I was sick of it all.  How does the saying go?  “The darkest hour is just before the dawn”.  My hour was dark back then.  My hour was so fucking dark.

And then I met the most gorgeous girl I’d ever seen.

 

~00Q~

 

I woke up on the morning my story started properly sitting in my office chair, sprawled face-down on my desk.  Two empty bottles lay next to me and I groaned.  For a second I wondered what could have pushed me into breaking my one bottle a day rule and then I saw it.  The headline on the previous day’s paper, right there under my hand.  “Putney Teacher Slays Cuckolding Wife and Lover.”

Albert Timms had seemed like a nice chap.  An English teacher for over thirty years, he’d come to me when he began to suspect his wife was having an affair.  I followed her for a few days and found the address in Battersea she’d been visiting and a few discreet enquiries later I had the man’s name.  How was I to know Timms would use the information in the way he did?  It didn’t stop me from feeling like a shit over it though.  According to the police reports he’d followed her, gained entry to the house and then slashed her and her lover’s throats.  After they’d bled out he’d calmly walked into a police station and handed himself in, still drenched in their blood.  Billy Tanner and I had stayed in touch, despite his initial anger at me at getting myself sacked, and it was he who’d told me the bad news with a copy of the Daily Mail in his hand.  He’d stopped for a couple of drinks with me and then left as I began to work my way through the rest of the bottle in earnest.  At some point I must have started another.

I went to the small bathroom that was down the end of the hallway and made myself throw up.  I always found it was easier to deal with my hangovers without the rolling acid in my stomach that cheap whiskey inevitably gave me.  Afterwards I took a couple of gulps of Milk of Magnesia and then cleaned my teeth.  I must have looked like hell.  My skin was pale and I was getting fat and puffy.  I tried to keep up appearances though, so I changed my shirt and put the dirty one in the pile that I was going to take to the Chinese laundry later that week.  I came back into the office, intending to go to the greasy spoon next door for a cup of tea and maybe something to eat before I had my first proper drink of the day.  I stopped in my tracks when I saw her sitting there on the chair in front of my desk.  I froze for a moment and then regained my composure, buttoning my fresh shirt and pulling on my braces.

“I’m sorry Miss.  I didn’t hear you come in.”  I rounded the desk and sat down behind it, quickly putting the empty bottles into the bin out of sight.  “How can I help?”

She smiled at my greeting and I think my heart must have jittered a little.  Did I mention she was gorgeous?  Her skin was dark and it made her teeth seem all the whiter for it.  She had fine, even features and was impeccably dressed in a stylish red coat.  Her accessories were all coordinated and her hair and nails were perfectly styled.  I guessed she was either a lady of means or a lady with a very rich man.  As it turned out, my first guess was nearer the mark.  Her expression became solemn as she spoke.

“I have a friend who I believe to be in very great danger and I need your help Mr Bond.  You came very highly recommended.”

 “Recommended by whom?” I asked.

 “Bill Tanner.”  She replied.  It was my turn to smile.

 “Good old Billy.” I said.  “Well, any friend of Bill’s is a friend of mine.  How about I pop next door and get us both some tea?  Then you can tell me all about this friend who’s in danger.”  She agreed and five minutes later she started her story over a steaming cuppa with me doing my usual trick of doodling on a pad and making the odd note as she spoke.

 Her name, she said, was Eve Moneypenny and she asked me shyly if I’d heard of her.  I had, as it happened.  I’d been investigating a bent bookie a couple of years previously and I’d found myself in the newly opened Flamingo Club in Soho a few times when following him.  All the up and coming jazz performers played and sang in there.  I’d heard Eve sing and I’d been impressed – she was no Billie or Ella but she was good and I’d enjoyed listening to her.  

 She sang there for a couple of months, she said, until one night she was approached by a stranger.  A tall man with olive skin and pale blond hair.  At this point in her story she pulled a business card out of her purse and handed it to me.  It was black and had a name written on it in red.

 “La Rata, Camden.” I read aloud.

“It’s Spanish for ‘the rat’” she said.  “The man who gave it to me is Spanish, I think; it’s his club.  We talked for almost an hour.  He was quite charming and when he left I agreed to visit him on my night off.”  I raised an eyebrow.  “I went along and took my bass player, Ronson, with me.  I’m no fool Mr Bond.  I don’t take unnecessary risks if I can help it.  Mr Silva was thrilled to see me and by the end of the night I’d signed a contract for me and my band.  Five nights a week at three times what the Flamingo was paying us.”

“That much?”

 “We’re worth every penny.” She smiled before taking a demure sip of her tea.  Replacing her cup on its saucer, she frowned again.  “Mr Silva has been very generous, very attentive, but I’m not sure I trust him.  It’s like there’s something going on behind his eyes, something that he doesn’t want you to see.  Do you know what I mean?”  I nodded.  In my line of work I couldn’t help but know exactly what she meant.  “I just wish I’d seen it sooner…”

 “Oh?”

She fumbled in her bag and pulled out a delicately embroidered handkerchief.  To my surprise she dabbed away a tear.  Taking a moment to compose herself, she continued her story.

 “Let me start from the beginning.  Or at least try to explain.  My parents moved to England when I was a baby.  Not the best of moves really as war broke out a few years later.  My father is a doctor and he’d been offered a job at the London Hospital for Tropical Diseases at St Pancras.  His research into the effects of Malaria is quite brilliant.  Anyway, we moved into a small house in Chalk Farm next door to a family called the Carters.  I’m not sure Mr Carter liked us much, I think we were too ‘Negro’ for his taste, so we didn’t speak to them much at first.  When war broke out and Mr Carter was called up, my mother and Mrs Carter found a common ground – they both had only children who they refused to evacuate.  Little Tommy was only five and although I was deemed old enough to go, my mother kept me with her.  She said no-one would want to have a little dark-skinned girl in their home.

 “Once we were allowed to play together, Tommy and I became as thick as thieves.  We would walk to school together, play in the street and have tea at each other’s houses.  My father wasn’t conscripted – his work was deemed too important for the troops fighting in hot countries for that – and he encouraged our friendship.  He said it was every man’s duty to care for those around him so he welcomed Mrs Carter and her son into our lives.  He said it was doubly important when Mrs Carter received word that her husband had been killed in France.

 “After the war we moved away but Tommy and I would write to each other and once a month or so my mother and I would visit.   Our mothers would chat over tea and cakes while Tommy and I played.”

 She stopped at this point, as if gathering her thoughts.

“I began singing in church when I was little and when I was 16 one of the congregation offered to put me in touch with a friend of his, who was an agent for nightclub singers.  My parents were horrified that I would want to follow such a career – they said it was unthinkable for a doctor’s daughter - and we kept having these almighty rows.  In the end I left home and found digs with a couple of dancers in Stepney.  I haven’t spoken to my parents since.  I stopped writing to Tommy too.  I was scared that my parents would find out where I was through my letters and try to force me to move back in with them.”  She took another sip of tea, it must have been cold by then, and she carried on.

 “A couple of months after I started working at La Rata I bumped into Tommy.  We hadn’t been in touch with each other for ages.  He looked pale and thin and so, so tired.  I took him to a café and bought him lunch.  I’ve never seen someone eat so ravenously.  I knew then that he was in trouble.  He’d always been bright but it turned out that he’d grown up to be something of a genius.  He’d aced all his exams at school, finished the sixth form with flying colours – straight A’s in five subjects- and had gotten himself a place at Birbeck University reading Mathematics.  His first year had been a breeze but while he was out celebrating the end of his first lot of exams there’d been a fire at his family house.  By the time he got home the fire brigade had put out the flames but his mother was dead.  The smoke had suffocated her as she slept.  The fire didn’t even reach her.

 “He searched the remains, he told me, but he couldn’t find any record of any insurances on the building.  His mother had worked full time as a housekeeper since his father died and he knew she’d paid into some kind of policy but without the documents or even knowing which company she was paying he had no clue how to claim on it.  He hadn’t been able to keep up the mortgage repayments so the bank eventually took what was left of the house from him.  He’d inherited what was in his mother’s bank account and her jewellery but there wasn’t a great deal.  He had just enough to pay for his second year’s tuition and the rent on a rundown room but he was struggling to find the money to eat.  He’d sold his mother’s things – he said it broke his heart to do so but he was out of options.  He was job-hunting when I bumped into him.  I wanted to help him so I did the only thing I could think of.”

 “You took him to La Rata and introduced him to your employer.”

 She nodded and picked up her teacup again, setting it down when she saw it was empty.  I offered to get her another but she declined.  I think she just wanted to finish telling her story.

 “I thought that Mr Silva would take him on as a busboy or a waiter or something but he said he had a better idea.  I should explain… in the club there’s the main bar where I sing and then there’s a private bar.  It’s like a whole separate club with its own staff and doormen and everything. I’ve never been allowed in there and only select clients gain access.”

 “Select?”

 “Rich.”

 I nodded.  I’d heard of this happening in clubs before.  Any number of things might have been happening in that back room.  Drugs, gambling… sex.

 “Mr Silva gave him a job in there and for a while things seemed to be working out for him.  Whatever Tommy was doing he was being well paid.  He worked out an instalment plan for his tuition fees with the Bursars’ office at the university, he found a better place to live and he started to look healthier.  Happier.”

 “But?”

 “But he wouldn’t tell me what it was that Mr Silva had him doing.  He’d turn up to meet me for lunch some days and I’d see marks on him.  What looked like rope burns on his wrists, bruises on his neck.  He tried to keep them hidden under his clothes but I saw them all the same.  He kept telling me it was all under control and he would leave as soon as he finished university.”

 “So what’s changed?”

 “There were these other boys. One was a young man called Archie.  Archie did start out as a busboy and we got on quite well together.  Mr Silva promoted him to the back club as we call it and a few weeks later he was gone.  I couldn’t understand it.  Archie loved working there and he loved Mr Silva.  He wouldn’t have just left.  A couple of days later there was a story in the newspaper.  The body of a young man had been found in the Thames.  They’d… someone had cut off his hands and head but I wondered, you know?  If it was him? And then there was another boy, Frederick, I think his name was.  One of the waitresses was going steady with him.  He disappeared too.  No trace.”

 “You think these disappearances are connected.”

 “Yes.”  Another tear rolled down her face and she quickly dabbed it away with her handkerchief.

 “And you’re worried about Tommy?”

 “He said he was going to leave when he’d finished his studies.  Now he says he’s staying for another year.  I don’t want him to be there Mr Bond.  He’s… he’s not like most men.  He’s delicate… he… God, he’d hate me for saying this.  He’s not physically strong and the thought of someone hurting him… taking advantage of him.  I don’t have a lot of money to pay you but…”  

 She began to cry openly.

 “You love him, don’t you?”

 She nodded.

 “Like a brother.  He’s the little brother I never had.”

 I picked up my cigarette case which was lying on the table and offered her one.  I was a hopeless boozer but I didn’t smoke excessively.  I did find them handy to help calm down upset clients though.  She took it gratefully and I tried not to stare at the way her lips wrapped around the end of it as I held a lit match up for her.  I then lit my own with it.  After taking a deep drag and blowing out the aromatic smoke she started to speak again.

 “I realise that I sound like I’m fussing.  Tommy has turned 21 now and he can do as he damn well pleases but the last time I saw him he looked strung out on something.  If they are drugging him it would be so easy for someone to prey on him.  I would just loathe myself if I didn’t even try to help him.”

 I nodded.

“That’s understandable.”  I sat and smoked my own cigarette, aware that she was now waiting for me to say something.  I pondered my first move.  “Miss Moneypenny, how does one gain entry to this private club within the club?”

 “Oh, I quite forgot!” She exclaimed.  She stubbed out her cigarette and reached into her handbag again.  Drawing out her purse she opened it and took out a brightly coloured poker chip which she handed to me.  I read the words stamped on it.

 “ _Casino Royale – Montenegro_. This is a long way from home.”

 “It’s like a code,” She said.  “Tommy explained it to me.  The sort of people who frequent the private club don’t like to use their names and if they want to invite a friend they’d rather not put them on a guest list.  Instead Mr Silva gives them one of these to pass on as they wish.  Then the friend can turn up when they like.”

 “Where did you get this one?”

“From Tommy.  He said he got home one night and found it in his pocket.  He gave it to me because he thought I’d think it fun.”

 I turned it over in my hand and thought about everything she’d told me.

 “It’s certainly useful,” I mused.  “I’m not actually sure there is anything sinister to investigate here Miss Moneypenny,” I said, and I saw the way her face fell at my words, “Low paid workers come and go in any kind of business.  But it sounds like this friend of yours might need a talking to.  Will he be working tonight?”

 “I think so…”

 “Then I’ll visit the club this evening and see what I can see.  I’ll forego my usual fee on this occasion, I’ll treat it as just another night out.  Will you be there?” She nodded, looking relieved. “Alright then.  It would be advisable to exercise caution.  If you see me, don’t show any sign that you’ve recognised me.  If I have trouble accessing the private section I wouldn’t want them suspecting your involvement and you losing your job over this.  Do you have a photograph of your friend?”

 She went into her bag for a third time and withdrew a photo.  She handed it to me.

 “That was taken a couple of months ago.”

 The photograph was of her and a handsome young man.  He was slightly taller than her and very slim.  His hair was longer than was strictly respectable and curled around his face.  He was wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a tweed suit and looked every inch the young student.  They were standing arm in arm and were laughing at something.  His teeth flashed white from his wide expressive mouth.  He was beautiful.  There was no other word I could think of to describe him.  Sitting opposite from me, I think my client must have seen something in my expression and she smiled.

 “Handsome, isn’t he?” She laughed.  “He’s a heartbreaker for sure, my Tommy.”

 I held up the photo.

 “Do you mind if I hang onto this?”

 “Be my guest.”

We talked a spell longer and then Miss Moneypenny left.  I glanced at the clock and was surprised to see that it had only just gone eleven.  Putting on my tie and jacket I looked out of the window and saw the day was drab.  I took my mackintosh off the hook by the door and pushed my trilby down to my eyebrows.  Hunching up my shoulders I stepped out into the cold June drizzle.  It was supposed to be summer already but that year it came late.  The early part of June was all rain and smog.  The Clean Air Act wasn’t passed until the following year (a full four years after the smog got so bad it killed four thousand people).  The smog was essentially fog mixed with the smoke from open fires and the power stations to form a cloying oppressive atmosphere but if you lived in London, and if it didn’t choke you, you learned to ignore it.

 I made my way to Scotland Yard and was greeted by a chap I knew, Villiers, who was manning the front desk.  I say ‘greeted’… in point of fact he hated me and the feeling was mutual.  His eyes narrowed when he saw me.

 “What do you want?” He snapped.

 “Detective Tanner.  Is he in?” I asked.

 “He’s busy.” Came the curt reply.

 “I’ll bet,” I said mildly, “But if I know Billy, he’s never too busy for lunch.  Tell him I want to see him.  I’ll be in the Feathers.”

 I walked out, not bother to wait to see if Villiers was going to pass on my message.  He didn’t like me but he was a toady, constantly licking the boots of his seniors.  He wouldn’t keep a message from Billy just to spite me in case he got into trouble for it.  I went across the road to the Four Feathers pub and ordered a pint of bitter.  I contemplated getting a whiskey chaser but decided against it – I would need to keep a clear head for the club later on.  The pub had only just opened and I had my choice of seating.  I selected a booth and waited.  Half an hour later I was on my second pint when Billy came in.  He spotted me and sat down.

 “Jimmy my boy.  Haven’t seen you for an age.  What do you want?”  I held my hand to my chest as if mortally wounded at his insinuation that I only ever came to see him when I wanted something until Billy laughed.  “Cut the shite Bond.”  I relaxed and grabbed my glass, taking a swig.

 “If I’m honest, I’d rather like to buy you lunch and then pump you for information.” I said.  He grinned.

 “Marvellous.  I’ll have the steak and kidney pudding thanks.”

 I ordered us both lunch and another couple of pints and sat down again.  The food came quickly and we tucked in.  Once we were finished we both sat back and lit up a cigarette each.

 “So,” Billy asked, “What’s your tale, nightingale?”

 I tried to hide my grin at his use of street slang as I answered him.

 “What do you know about a club in Camden called La Rata?”

 He pointed at me, using the two fingers that held his cigarette.

 “You’ve been talking to Eve!  I told her she should go to see you.”

 “Nice girl.” I commented.  “What’s the deal with that broad anyway Billy?  You courting her?”

He took a drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out.  If I didn’t know any better I’d have said he blushed.

 “No… it’s not like that.  I used to watch her sing when she was at the Flamingo.  When she had a problem with an over eager fan she came to the station and I recognised her.  Helped her out.  We’ve stayed in touch ever since.  She’s a good kid.”

 I grinned.  Tanner was seven years younger than me, barely old enough to be shaving let alone calling Miss Moneypenny a kid.  He saw my smirk.

 “Shut up Bond.”

 I held my hands up in surrender.  I hadn’t said a word.

 “So anyway, La Rata?”

“I looked into the official files for Eve and everything is above board.  All licenses are up to date, all permits are in order. But…”

 “But?  There’s a ‘but’?”

 “There’s always a ‘but’ Jim.”  Billy leaned in, as if worried someone would overhear him.  “The club is owned by a chap called Raoul Silva who professes to be from Seville.  I thought I might look into what he was up to in Spain before he came here and here’s the strange thing; I spoke to a pal of mine at the International Criminal Police Commission and he did some digging.  He told me there’s no record of a Raoul Silva fitting his description in Seville, criminal or otherwise.”

 “An assumed name?”

 “Looks like.  And here’s another thing; you’ve heard of the Krays?”

 I nodded.  The Kray twins were making a name for themselves all over East London and their influence was beginning to spread.

 “Look at La Rata.” Billy continued, his voice low.  “It’s exactly the kind of place the Krays like.  A flashy club with exclusive clientele.  They have dozens like it on their payroll.  Word is though that when their representative went there to make them an offer of protection he disappeared.  Two weeks later Ronnie starts drinking in there.”

 “So they didn’t make the deal?”

 “Apparently not.  So it begs the question; why would one of the most powerful, up and coming crime families in London back down from a turf war?”

 I pondered the question.

 “Why would a dog back down when he accidentally finds himself in a wolf’s lair?” I muttered.

 “What?”

 “What if the Krays tried to move in but quickly realised they’d met their match?  They have two options; they fight and risk exposing themselves to the authorities, or even losing, or they call a truce.  So that begs the question, what is it about Silva that has the Krays running scared?”

Billy shrugged and then downed the rest of his pint and looked at his watch.

 “I’ll let you ponder that.  Look, I’ve got to get back.” He stood up.  “Jimmy, if you’re going to sniff around that club, be careful.  I’m trying to convince Eve to move on but she won’t while her friend is still mixed up in it all.”

 I nodded and stood up to shake his hand.  I watched him leave and then had a couple of whiskeys for the road after all.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond visits the club and meets it's enigmatic host... and his beautiful employee.

 

I left the pub and went to Waterloo Station.  

Getting off the train at St Margarets I called into my favourite barber and had a short back and sides and a shave before walking the rest of the way home.  Once inside I pulled out my best suit and set about polishing my dress shoes.  I mentioned that I was well off didn’t I?  Well that enabled me to dress expensively when a case called for it.  My shoes were handmade in Italy and my suit in Saville Row.  I had a bath and put on an expensive cologne.  Once suited and booted I looked at myself in the mirror on the back of my wardrobe door.  I was still bloated and looked tired as hell but I also looked rich and that was all that mattered.  Before I left the bedroom I went to the strong box that was bolted to the floor in the corner.  I opened it and lifted out a large buff coloured envelope.  From it I took out fifty pounds which I folded into a gold money clip.  It was a huge amount of money, almost half a year’s wages for some people. I fingered my pistol which I also kept in the box but didn’t take it out.  I was only going to scope the joint out, not start a fight.

I caught the train back to Waterloo and then jumped in a cab.  I chatted to the cabbie about the football on the way and then tipped him handsomely.  I was playing rich – I didn’t want the doormen to see me stiff the guy.  I walked up to the front door.  He looked me up and down before stepping to one side.  Striding inside with a confidence I wasn’t really feeling, I greeted the hostess at the inner door and asked for a table not too close to the band.  She showed me to a small table and I ordered a large scotch on the rocks, just fit in with my cover, you understand.  Eve was up on stage singing and I know she saw me but she made no sign she recognised me.  Good girl.  Whatever was going on, I’m not sure her boss would have appreciated her getting mixed up with a private dick.

I stayed in that spot for about half an hour, scoping out the lay of the land.  The club was a riot of red velvet and black tasselled lampshades.  It was all very tasteful in a burlesque kind of way.  The stage that Eve and her band were on was at one end of the room in front of which was a large dance floor.  The centre of the room was filled with small tables like mine and the walls to either side were kitted out with cosy booths.  At the opposite end of the room from the stage was a long bar, well-staffed with bartenders and waiting staff.  The clientele were an even mix of male and female, mostly couples in fact.  The whole place reeked of respectability and affluence.

I spotted the small side-door almost immediately.  It was at the end of the bar and manned by a single goon.  If I’m honest though, I only kept half an eye on that door and the other half was on Moneypenny.  That girl had great gams.  I could see why Billy was smitten.  Over the course of the half hour I saw a dozen or more customers go in through the door.  They were mostly men and I actually recognised a couple of them.  One was a politician and the other some fellow I’d seen in a film.  I had another couple of drinks and then decided to chance my arm.  I left enough money to cover my tab on the table and sauntered over.  Approaching the guard, he blocked my path.

“Can I help you Sir?”  He asked.

I showed him the chip and he grunted, stepping aside.  I walked through the doorway and then pushed through the dense bead curtain at the other end of the short corridor I found myself in.

You know how I was wondering what the deal was with the private club?  As I walked in, it was immediately obvious it was sex.  

The walls were decorated with erotic art from throughout the ages.  Ancient roman murals depicting sodomy jostled for position alongside Raphael-style nudes and photographs of couples in congress.  Men with women, women with women, men with men.  You have to remember that homosexuality was as illegal back then as it is today.  A chap could find himself in prison or chemically castrated for being even suspected of having relations with another man.  Places like this club flourished because they allowed their patrons to stop hiding for a few hours.  Although it seemed a few of them were doing a lot more than simply not hiding.

I kept my demeanour as cool as I could as I spotted two women smooching in a booth.  Another booth contained a man who appeared to be feeding his male companion strawberries and champagne.  One of the men I’d seen enter twenty minutes earlier was stripped to his shirt and enthusiastically kissing the red-headed boy who was sitting on his lap.  The kid seemed to be enjoying himself, his naked erection stood proud from his open slacks as the older man tugged on it roughly.  It was all very decadent.  I saw all this in the seconds it took for the host to approach me.  He was a tall, broad man with blond hair.  I wondered if this was Silva but realised my error when he opened his mouth to speak.

“I don’t believe I recognise you.  Is this your first time Sir?” He asked in a broad Yorkshire accent.  I nodded.  “May I see your chip please?”  I handed it to him.  He smiled upon inspecting it.

“Thank you Sir.  Welcome.  My name is Trevelyan and I will be your host this evening.  Firstly, where would Sir like to sit?”  

I shrugged.

“I’m not fussy.” I said, curious to see where he’d place me.

He nodded.

“Then might I recommend a table by the stage?  There’s one left.  We have a number of acts designed to titillate and entertain this evening.”

I followed him through the tables and allowed him to seat me.  I ordered another whiskey on the rocks and was surprised when it arrived accompanied by a bottle of champagne on ice.  I raised my eyebrow at the waitress.

“Compliments of Mr Silva, Sir.”

She looked over to a table to the side of the stage and I followed her gaze to see another large blonde man.  I nodded at him and he nodded back in acknowledgement.  So that was Silva, I mused.  Just then the house lights dimmed and the first of the evenings ‘entertainment’ appeared.

The two young men were both dressed in shift-like togas and as the small band in the corner struck up a slow melody they started to move.  They were both quite talented dancers although it soon became obvious that dance was not the focus of their act.  They moved together, swaying to the rhythm until one of them untied the belt on the other’s tunic, allowing it to fall to the stage.  They kept moving, the dressed boy coyly running his hands over the other’s naked flesh until he was quite aroused.  Then the naked boy undressed him and the dance was reversed.  When they were both erect the first boy dropped to his knees and began to fellate him.  They were side-on to the audience so we could not fail to see to way the standing boy was able to slide his cock into other’s throat and pump his hips.  The boy being used grasped his own cock and began to stroke himself.  I can’t say that I was wholly unmoved.  I’d been no stranger to the touch of another man in the Navy; a few hundred miles away from the nearest woman and the fear of death looming over you, it wasn’t unusual to find solace in the nearest willing mouth or arse.  But this?  This was something else.  This was wanton.

Eventually the boy on his knees moaned and he spurted his seed onto the stage between his spread thighs.  This seemed to trigger the other lad who pulled back and came all over his friend’s face.  Perfect timing.  I guessed they’d performed this act together a few times before.  The two gaycats carefully used their shed clothing to wipe up the mess on the floor and left the stage.  I took a sip of my whiskey and then downed it waiting for the next act.  This one was a buxom broad dressed in feathers and sequins and not much else.  She took off her clothing, such as it was, and then played with her pussy and tits but she did nothing for me.  I liked my gals classy, not tawdry like her.  Even picking up hookers I’d tended to go for the ones in day dresses rather than those who flashed their wares on the street.

I was pouring myself a glass of champagne when the next act walked onto the stage.  Out of the corner of my eye it looked like… do you remember that film?  I think I’d seen it at the cinema with some girl the previous year, the dame I was seeing was into it.  It was called “The Belles of St. Trinian's” I think…  All those naughty schoolgirls and Alastair Sim in drag?  It was a real hoot.  I caught a glimpse of white socks and a short skirt as I was topping up my glass and I thought they’d dressed up another broad but when I went to put down the bottle and looked properly….  Well.  It was a good job the bottle was over the ice-bucket or I’d probably have dropped it on the floor.  It was him, Miss Moneypenny’s friend, and he looked… exceptional.

He was dressed in a short skirt which was pleated and swung six inches above his knees as he sashayed in the middle of the stage.  He wore a plain white ladies blouse which billowed around his thin chest and which was unbuttoned halfway.  A striped tie which look like it came from Dudden Hill school was casually slung around his neck, like he’d been interrupted while beginning to undress.  What finished the outfit though were the white knee-high socks he wore with black t-bar high-heeled pumps.

If I thought the boys earlier had been wanton, this boy was pure sin.

He stood for a moment, scanning the front tables, before launching into his act.  He grabbed one end of his tie and tugged it, letting it fall to the floor through his fingers as he began to swing his hips properly to the sultry, throbbing music that the combo were playing.  He skipped down off the stage and went to the man sitting at the table to the right.  He leaned over to whisper in his ear giving the rest of us a tantalising glimpse of his creamy white thighs as his skirt rode up.  When he straightened, the gent reached up and popped the buttons on each of his cuffs in turn.  Stroking the man’s face, as if in thanks, he danced over to the next table.  Here, one of the few women in the room sat with who I assumed was her husband.  The boy grinned and bent to kiss the lady’s cheek and I heard him giggle over the sound of the music as she tried to hug him.  He straightened for her and guided her hands to the buttons at the front of his shirt.  He let her tug at the hem until it hung loose and then he turned and returned to the stage.  He stood with his back to the audience as he let the shirt slide off his shoulders to fall next to his discarded tie.

He grooved with the music for a moment, letting us see the flex of his thin back before he laid down on the stage.  He lifted a leg and smoothed his hands over it before he reached to unbuckle his shoes.  He slipped them both off and then crawled to the edge of the stage.  He went to the next table and my mouth grew dry as I realised that the following table he visited would be mine.  

The man sitting just over from me went a strangled shade of red as the boy lifted his leg and placed his stockinged foot between his spread thighs.  The man had seen this show before, I guessed, as he immediately hooked his trembling fingers into the top of the sock and drew it slowly down the boy’s shin.  He allowed him to draw it all the way off and then offered his other leg and the process was repeated.  He took the socks from him with a smile and they joined the mounting pile on the stage.

Then he turned to me.

I can’t quite explain to you how I was feeling at that moment.  I knew that this was Eve’s friend, I knew this was Tommy, I knew that he was 21 and I knew I was there to help him but at the same time, all I knew was that this slutty man-child had been sent to seduce me.  His thin chest was bright with sweat – the stage lights were as hot as little suns – he was dressed only in his ridiculous short skirt and yet he was Dionysos incarnate, designed to tempt and intoxicate me.  He moved sinuously as he approached me, placing a light hand on my shoulder and swinging his leg over my lap to sink down onto me.  He bucked his hips slowly as he straddled me.  He leaned over to murmur into my ear.

“You’re new.”

He didn’t seem to mind as I placed my hands on his hips, steadying him.

“I’m Eve’s friend.”

He didn’t miss a beat but I felt the way his breath caught.

“We can’t talk in here.” He whispered. “Silva can’t know Eve called upon you.  I told her not to.  You’ll get her into trouble.”  His sinuous movements didn’t stop but his voice was urgent.

“A quick conversation,” I insisted, “and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

He shook his head fractionally and then he leaned back as he lowered my hands to his waistband.  I found my fingers on a small button which I undid.  He shivered when my fingertips  accidentally brushed his abdomen and I appreciated the act of arousal on his part.  A section of the waistband fell away.  I saw another button and realised the skirt was a wrap-around design.  Feeling my head begin to swim and my cock begin to harden, I undid the second button.  He stood up and, as he did so, the skirt fell away.  For a brief, glorious, wonderful moment he stood merely inches from my face and I got an intimate view of the white satin knickers he was wearing underneath.

Christ, he was beautiful.  His slim body was as pale as could be with a trail of wiry black hairs which began below his navel and thickened before disappearing under the waistband of his underwear.  The front of the knickers bulged and I wanted, oh how I wanted, to lay him down and peel them away.  They were held in place by a pair of ribbons on each side, tied into pretty bows that would unravel with a single pull.  It would have been so easy to strip him. Instead he danced away, the skirt went onto the stage and he moved to the next table.  I felt a jolt of irrational jealousy as the man sitting there roughly grabbed at him.  The lad playfully pushed him away but not before I saw Silva’s man Trevelyan, who was standing by the side of the stage, straighten up, ready to wade in if the man got too handsy.  Instead the man yanked on one of the ribbons which adorned the side of the knickers.  The boy caught them before they could unravel too far and danced off to the last table that flanked the stage.  The one that was occupied by Silva.

He kept a hold of the side of his knickers as he leaned over his employer.  Silva ran his hand up the side of his neck and drew him in to kiss his cheek.  The boy whispered to him and the big man glanced over at me.  He smiled up at him and said something in reply before reaching out to tug on the other set of ribbons.  That seemed to be the signal for the lad to return to the stage.  He danced for a moment more before turning his back to the audience again.  There was a murmur of approval from them as he raised his hands over his head and the satin and lace of his knickers slithered to the stage.  The murmur turned to a gasp as he suddenly turned, as naked as the day he was born.

I don’t know what I was expecting but I was almost surprised to see that he was truly blessed with a thick, long cock that was as pale and beautiful as the rest of him.   As he moved, still swaying to the sultry music I wondered if this was the kind of perfection Michelangelo was trying to achieve when he carved his David.  If it was, he didn’t come close.  I had to remind myself to stay in my seat as he danced.  I wanted him.  I wanted him so badly and for a second I forgot all about Silva and the missing boys and my client.  I even forgot about the drink in my hand.  All I wanted was to worship this wicked tempter.  I wanted to fall to my knees in front of him and beg for his lovely cock and to see if the tip of it, hidden by the sheath of his foreskin, was the same sinful red as his lips.

The music ended and he stopped moving.  With a shy smile he gathered up his clothing and left the stage, disappearing out the back.  The house lights came back on and I saw the man who’d tried to grab the boy start to get up, looking as if he wanted to talk to Silva.  I jumped up and strode over to the blond man quickly, beating him to it.

“The boy.  That dancer.  I need to see him.” I blurted out.  Silva looked at me and smiled, gesturing to the empty chair beside him.

“Please sit, Mr… er…”

“Stirling,” I said, “Richard Stirling.”  I’d used that pseudonym several times before and it tripped off my tongue as naturally as my own name.  I held out my hand and Silva shook it.  His grip was weak and his palm was sweaty.  I fought the urge to wipe my hand on my trousers when he released it.  I sat down.

“I’m not sure we have met before,” Silva remarked, “and I’m usually so good with faces.”

“This is my first time here.  Your establishment was recommended to me.”

“Recommended by whom, might I ask?”

I grinned and shook my head.

“My friend is a man of influence.  Status.  Even if I were to give you a name, I’m not sure it would be the same one that you know him by.”

I wondered if Silva might see through my lie but he seemed to buy it.  He nodded and raised his hand.  A moment later a waitress appeared with a fresh bottle of champagne and an extra glass for me.

“Of course.  I understand.  I take my client’s discretion very seriously.  In all honesty, if you had given me his name I would have thought twice about allowing you to meet Q this evening.”

“Q?”

I noticed after I’d sat down that the man I'd beaten to Silva had been hovering, trying to catch his eye.  At the mention of ‘Q’ he stepped forward.

“Now see here Silva!” He started, all bluster and volume. “You told me last week I could have an hour with that boy and I’m still waiting.  Now you’re offering him to this Johnny-come-lately and I’m not having it! I…”

He was cut off by Trevelyan grabbing him from behind and swiftly putting him into an arm lock.

“I’m sorry Mr Silva.  It appears that this gentleman has had a drop too much to drink.  I’ll see to it that he gets home immediately.

Silva seemed unperturbed.

“Thank you Trevelyan.  Perhaps you might remind Mr Clarke of the rules of the club while you are hailing a taxi for him.”

Trevelyan dragged the struggling man away and I wondered if the ‘reminder’ would be given via the larger man’s fists.  Silva poured two glasses of champagne and handed me one.  We touched the rims together.

“To new acquaintances.” I offered.

“To new acquaintances.”

We both drank and then Silva leaned forward.

“As you can see from that fool’s display, Mr Stirling, Q is in great demand.  As is the case when a commodity is in such a demand, the price is high.”

“Whatever you want, he’s worth it.  I’ve never seen such a beautiful boy.”

“Is that what you like, Mr Stirling?  Beautiful boys?”

I shrugged.

“Boys.  Gals.  Men.  Dames.  I'm not fussy.  You might call me something of an equal opportunity employer.”

Silva stared at me for a second and then burst out laughing.  He stood up, clapping my shoulder as he did so.

“I believe you and I are going to be great friends Mr Stirling.”

I grinned.

“Richard, please.”

“Raoul.  Come then Richard.  Let us see if Q would like you to keep him company for a while.”

He led me through the door to the side of the stage and down a narrow corridor.  I stopped when he raised his hand and then knocked on a door which stood ajar.

“Q darling?  May I come in?”  He went in when I heard the boy’s muffled answer.  I sidled closer to the door to try to overhear what they were saying.  “There is a new gentleman here to see you privately.  I’d like you to do your best to be entertaining for him.”

“Is it the blue-eyed man?”  The boy began, sounding tired. “He looked nice but I’m not really in the mood to…”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s nice or not.” Silva chided him.  “He is a customer and you will be sweet for him.  You know how to be sweet, my clever boy, don’t you?”

“Yes Mr Silva.” He sounded unsure now.

“If I were you I’d be a little more grateful for the opportunity to earn some extra money!” Silva snapped, suddenly sounding angry.  After a moment he sighed.  “Here.”  There was a pause.  “Take this – don’t shy away from me, you brat – take it!  You always get so nervous before I let men play with you, don’t you?” There was another pause and I couldn't be sure but I thought I heard the boy whimper.  “Give it a minute and then come and see us in the greeting room.”

I took two rapid steps backwards so I was in my original position when Silva reappeared.  He smiled at me and indicated I should follow him down the hallway.  Passing through the door at the end, I found myself in a small salon.  It was empty save for a couple of tired-looking potted plants, a sideboard and a large comfortable-looking settee.

“Q is on his way.  He is looking forward to meeting you very much.”

I smiled back but inwardly he was beginning to repulse me.  From what I’d just heard, it didn’t sound like Q was looking forward to our meeting at all.  In fact, it sounded very much like Silva had just had to threaten and drug him to get him to comply.  I sat down when Silva invited me to just as Q walked in.  He was barefoot and wearing a white silk robe which clung to him.  He looked sleepy, stoned.

“There you are, my boy.” Silva put his hand out to him.  The lad walked over to him dreamily and smiled as Silva held the back of his neck. “Isn’t he beautiful?  Everybody says so.  He is my crowning jewel.”

I nodded.  He truly was beautiful.

“Do you know why I call him ‘Q’ Mr Stirling?”  I shook my head. “Tell him darling boy.  Tell him why I call you ‘Q’.”

“It’s because Mr Silva thinks I am ‘quite brilliant’ because I’m studying pure mathematics at university.”  He looked to his employer, a woozy smile on his face. “Don’t you Sir?”  

Silva shifted his hand until he gripped the back of Q’s head and then pulled him in for a deep kiss.  I didn’t miss the way that, despite being doped, the kid still tensed up.  When Silva broke the kiss off he looked back at me with a louche grin before licking his lips.

“Forgive me but one cannot work in a sweet shop without occasionally feeling the need to taste the wares.  Anyway, tawdry though it is, now I must speak of remuneration.  The price of spending one hour in this room with my darling boy is ten pounds.”  I raised an eyebrow.  The average working man would take a month to earn that kind of money.  He saw my hesitation. “Of course, if the price is too high for you…”  Without a word I took my money clip out of my inside pocket and peeled off the amount he wanted.  Silva’s eyes lit up as he took it from me.  I’ll bet the greedy bastard wished he had asked me for twice as much.  “Much appreciated Mr Stirling.”  He put the money in his pocket and I wondered how much of it Q would get.  I felt another stab of dislike for the man when I guessed he’d be lucky to see more than a few shillings of it .

“And now, to our rules.  Rule number one, you will not hurt him.  Rule number two, you will not force him to do anything he does not wish to.  Number three, you will not mark him.  He is enjoyed by many, not just you.” I nodded my agreement to his terms. “Finally, most importantly, you will not fuck him.”  I must have looked surprised so he clarified; “Q is a dancer Mr Stirling, not a toy, not a prostitute.  I like all my boys to be innocent of that most carnal of acts.  Innocent boys are so much more eager to please, don’t you think?  He looks at a man’s cock and wonders what it would be like to be penetrated and it makes him hungry for what pleasure he can get.  But listen to me prattling on!  I shall leave you now and return in one hour.”  He released his hold on Q who swayed slightly.  The lad was beginning to look completely out of it. As Silva left the room, I held my hand out to him.

“Come here lad.”  I said gently.

He immediately walked over to me.  I patted the seat beside me, intending to spend the hour talking with him, but was surprised when he clambered onto my lap, straddling me.  I tried to speak but he stopped me by kissing me.  I ran my hands up his back and groaned as his tongue slipped into my mouth.  His mouth tasted sweet and for a moment I let him continue.  Eventually I tried to pull away but he chased my lips, kissing the edge of my mouth, my cheek, my jaw and finally the side of my neck.  His tongue darted into my ear before he whispered onto the damp flesh, making me shiver;

“He’s watching us.”

I looked over Q’s shoulder to see a large mirror.  Two-way glass was my guess.  I nuzzled into him and whispered back.

“Does he listen?”

“I… I don’t know.  I don't think so.” He shuddered and rocked his hips, pressing our crotches together. “Please… will you touch me?”

I ran my fingers up through his hair.

“You know I’m not here for that don’t you?” I murmured.  “I’m here because Miss Moneypenny is worried about you.  Do you even like men?”

Q pouted.

“Of course I do and I’m fine.  I’ve told Evie not to worry.  Everything’s under control.”

I held his jaw and pulled back to look into his dilated eyes.

“Is it?” I pondered. “Because it looks to me as if Silva has got you strung out on something.”

He shook his head.

“It’s nothing.  He says pharmaceuticals are his hobby.  He gives me this stuff and it makes me want to be touched that’s all.  It makes things… easier for a little while.  Please, will you touch me?  I need to be touched.” He bit his lip, still rocking his hips.  “It makes me so hard it hurts…”  He took my hand and pressed it onto his cock which was straining under the flimsy material of his robe.  “Please…”

I’d never professed to be a great man or even a good one and faced with Q writhing on my lap, begging me to put my hands on him, I couldn’t resist.  On top of that, I knew that I’d never get any sense either out of him or into him while he was doped.  That was my justification anyway for what I did next.  I pulled on the belt that kept his robe closed and pushed the material off his slim shoulders.  It slithered down his body, pooling around his arse.  I looked up at the mirror and suppressed a shudder as I thought about Silva on the other side of the glass.  I pushed him out of my mind and watched the reflection of my hands as they encircled Q’s buttocks.  I cupped the soft globes and squeezed them, easing them apart until I could see the pink furl of his arsehole reflected in the mirror.  He whimpered.  He really was so beautiful.  His back twisted and undulated as he writhed.  Reaching down, he pushed aside his robe to reveal his sex.  It was almost ten inches long erect and it was already drooling.  He was so turned on.

“Gorgeous thing.” I muttered.  “Let me take care of that for you.”  I lifted him off my lap and laid him down on the settee besides me.  He spread his legs for me and I ran a hand up each thigh.  I brushed my fingers over his balls and delighted in the way he raised his arms over his head and stretched out in his pleasure.  I stood up before kneeling on the floor beside him.  If that bastard Silva wanted to watch I was going to do my very best to block his view.  I lightly gripped Q’s cock and began to stroke him.  He moaned as I ducked my head to draw one of his nipples into my mouth.  I didn’t think it would take me long to get him off but after almost ten minutes he started to buck and whine.  I raised my head and saw he was watching me, a pained expression on his face.

“I don’t think I can.” He whispered before groaning.  “This stuff he gives me makes it difficult…I’m sorry…”  I shifted up and kissed his brow.

“Shhh,” I soothed. “Is it true what he said? Are you really a virgin?”  He shivered as he nodded.  I could see from his frown that he didn’t know why I was asking.  I kept my voice low.  “Do you know what would make you come?  My cock.  You’ve never been fucked but imagine it; my fat dick rubbing over that sweet spot inside of you, stretching you.  Have you ever put your fingers up your bottom?  Have you ever tried it?” Q nodded and spread his legs wider, whining.  I felt my own cock twitch as I imagined him pleasuring himself with his own fingers.  How many would he use? Two? Three?  Stuffing himself full until he spilled.  “Can you imagine if I got my dick out now and just thrust it inside you?  Silva would come running to stop me but I bet I could give you such a fucking before he dragged me off you.”  

As I’d hoped, my dirty talk was enough to push him over the edge and he arched his back as his cock began to spurt. I eased him through it until he became oversensitive and he tried to twitch his hips away.  I chuckled and released him, smoothing my fingers through the mess on his stomach.  He smiled up at me.  He looked so relaxed now the urgency had passed.  I picked up his discarded robe and wiped him down.  Afterwards he rolled onto his side and curled over.  I sat on the floor by his head and kissed his cheek softly.

“Thank you.  That was lovely.” He whispered.  “Not everyone is so gentle with me.”

I smoothed a stray curl back off his forehead.

“Why do you do this?”

His eyes slid shut.

“I’m a pretty boy.  Men like pretty boys.  They’re willing to pay.”

I looked at his serene face.  Any hopes I had of being able to speak to him rationally were dwindling.  He was too out of it.  I reached into my pocket and drew out my cigarette case.  I lit one and offered it to him.  He took it and watched as I put the case away.

“You don’t smoke?” He asked as he took a drag.

“I do,” I said, “but I don’t want one right now.”

I didn’t, that was the truth but what I didn’t tell him was the reason.  The simple fact was, I could still taste his kisses on my lips and I wanted to hold onto that flavour for as long as possible.  I watched him as he smoked his cigarette and I passed him the ashtray from the sideboard when he was finished so he could stub it out.  When I sat back down he stoked my arm.

“You didn’t finish.  We still have some time.  Would you like me to blow you?”

I shook my head.  I really didn’t want him to.  The hard-on I’d had when I was wanking him had faded.  My balls were aching but in a good way and I was enjoying just looking at him too much.  He was a vision, lying there nude.

“I didn’t come here for that.” I said again.  He suddenly giggled.

“He didn’t come here for that,” He said in a sing-song voice, “But look at what he did get!  A slutty boy with a lovely big, achingly hard cock!  Did you like it Mr Sterling?  Did you like it when you played with it?”  

I turned my head and saw he was stroking himself.  I stilled his hand by placing my own over it.

“I came here to talk to you.” He grinned up at me and I barked out a laugh, suddenly aware of just how lost my cause was that night.  “Are you working tomorrow?  Can I come and see you again tomorrow?” He nodded and slyly slid away his hand so that my hand rested on his cock and then he pressed my palm onto it.  He giggled again as I curled my fingers and began to stroke him once more.  “Can you do something for me though?  If Silva offers, can you say no to his drugs?  I need you straight.  Not like this.  I want to talk to you.”  He scrutinised me, his eyes half-closed with pleasure.

“Don’t you like me like this?”  He asked.  

I kissed his cheek again and sped up my stroking.

“You know that I do.” I whispered “but we really need to talk.”

I watched him as I made him come again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond decides to visit the club again but things don't go quite the way he planned.

I felt like shit for most of the next day.

I’d woken to find myself lying, still dressed, on top of my bed covers. I’d stumbled home after seeing Q, already half-cut from all the whiskey and champagne. That hadn’t stopped me from grabbing a three-quarters full bottle of whiskey from my kitchen though, and then downing it while wanking myself stupid over the boy. I spent the morning with a slamming headache and vague memories of fisting my cock with my other hand, the hand that had touched him, pressed over my face so I could taste and smell the memory of him.

In addition to my monstrous hangover, I was in dutch. I was dizzy for the young nance. I’d fallen like a ton of bricks for him but I felt so sick that I’d taken advantage of him. I was trying to help him, not become another one of his johns. I vowed to do better but God loves a fool and a drunk and I was both.

I spent the day counting the hours and was back in the club that night. I wanted to be there as soon as it opened, I was that eager to see Q again, but I played it cool and strolled in a little after 11pm. It was busier than the previous evening and I didn’t get a seat by the stage. There was no sign of Trevelyan and an older woman, dressed in a man’s tuxedo, directed me to a table in the second row. No matter, I told myself, Silva will want my money. I’ll still get to speak to him.

I was so wrong.

The performances on stage were different that night. A pretty Asian girl came on and did a trick with some ping pong balls that I’d last seen while I was on shore leave in Bangkok several years before. The two boys were back but this time one knelt on all fours as the other frotted up against his buttocks, a simulation of intercourse that had them both coming messily. And then it was Q’s turn.

He too had a different act. It started with two stagehands bringing a wooden cross tree onto the stage. Q appeared moments later dressed in a loose white shirt and trousers. Trevelyan was with him, in a white dress shirt which he’d rolled the sleeves up on and smart black trousers. Q allowed him to push him back onto the device and smiled as Trevelyan used ropes at his wrists and ankles to bind him spread-eagled onto it. Q giggled as Trevelyan looped rope around his neck and tied it tightly to the wood behind his head. From what I knew of bondage I knew that this wasn’t safe. Q seemed stoned again and all it would take would be for him to panic or pass out and he would be in serious trouble. I could feel my anger begin to rise. This must have been what caused the bruising on his wrists and neck that Miss Moneypenny said she’d seen.

Once secured, the show properly began. Trevelyan took a knife and some of the audience muttered in appreciation as he began to cut into Q’s clothing. The band in the corner stayed silent apart from one member playing a lilting tune on a flute and there was only the occasional murmur or clink of glass from the room at large. It was almost as if the whole place was waiting with baited breath to see Q’s body revealed. His shirt fell away first and Trevelyan paused to smooth his hands over his chest before turning to his trousers. He cut artfully, virtually destroying them before they finally fell, revealing Q entirely. He was hard and I’d guess he’d been given the same drug as the night before as he moaned loudly when Trevelyan chuckled and stroked his erection just once.

I wondered what would happen next and soon found out. Trevelyan reached behind the cross tree and drew out a flogger. It was made of soft-looking leather with dozens of thin tendrils sprouting from a stout handle. He swung it a couple of times, as if gauging its heft before raising his arm and lashing out. The tips caught Q squarely across the belly and he shuddered. The skin it contacted with immediately pinked and Trevelyan soothed it with his hand. Standing back he did it again. And again. And again until Q was writhing and the skin on his stomach was bright red. His captor then shifted his attentions to his cock, alternatively lashing it lightly and then allowing the soft leather to caress his engorged flesh. As the boy began to pant Trevelyan changed his angle, flicking the ends of the flogger upwards between his legs to give his scrotum its share of the torture. Q howled at this, shockingly loud over the quiet of the room, and tried to spread his legs. He started to beg and I wasn’t sure he even knew where he was anymore.

“Please. Please Alec. Don’t. Please just make me come. Please.”

Trevelyan laughed again and suddenly gave Q another six hard lashes across his belly. He stepped in close to him and rapidly slapped the reddened skin while trailing the ends of the flogger over his erection once more. Q shouted out and threw his head back, gasping as he began to come. But the moment his seed flowed, Trevelyan stepped back. Q shuddered and moaned as the stimulation was removed and his orgasm faltered. As soon as the spasms died out, Trevelyan began to flog him again.

By the time Q began to shudder and plead again I was almost incandescent with rage. They were treating him like a dog. I looked around me, suddenly hating every person in the room for watching him go through this sexual agony, myself included. Myself especially. I abruptly decided I didn’t care how much they were paying him. I didn’t care how much money he needed to complete his studies. I vowed to take him away and keep him safe from those people who would harm him for their own pleasure. I could give him the money he needed. I would willingly give him everything I owned simply to get him away from this humiliation.

Trevelyan managed to make Q come twice more before he was released. Putting the flogger down, he quickly cut the ropes at his ankles, neck and wrists before catching the now-sobbing boy when he stumbled. Q looked wrecked, exhausted and Trevelyan lifted him easily, bridal-style, and carried him off-stage.

The house lights came on and I was at Silva’s table in an instant.

“I want to see him.” I demanded.

Silva raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Q,” I insisted. “Let me see him. I have the money!”

“It is not a matter of money. Tonight was a special show that he loves to give but it tires him. He won’t be entertaining anyone privately this evening.”

“He loves to give it?” I spat. I was getting agitated with the smug bastard. Maybe I’d had too much to drink. Maybe I hadn’t had enough. “How can he love that? You had him bloody tortured.”

“But he came so beautifully, don’t you think? Several times in fact. Why would he do that if he weren’t enjoying himself? And if it was all so outrageous, I didn’t see you stride onto the stage to stop the proceedings.”

I gaped at him, unable to defend myself from the truth.

“Q is being cared for by Mr Trevelyan as we speak. He will be cleaned and held and soothed before he is taken home. He is loved by all here and we only want the best for him.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” I snapped. “You drug him and abuse him! You’re only one step away from being complicit in that boy’s rape! How long before someone makes you an offer you can’t refuse or you decide to sell his innocence to the highest bidder?”

“And if I were to auction that boy’s precious innocence, might you be the one offering the most? You act like you would be his saviour and yet you were quick to take pleasure from him not twenty-four hours ago.”

“He was strung out and begging!”

“Was he? Or was he just eager enough to assuage your guilt?” I opened my mouth to snap back at him but he interrupted me. “Oh Mr Bond. All that physical stuff is so dull. So dull.”

It took a moment but I suddenly realised he’d used my real name.

“Do you think I am a fool Mr Bond? When you left here last night, still drunk on my champagne and the pleasures of my boy, I had you followed home. It was a simple matter to chat to your neighbours and discover that you were, in fact, one of our city’s finest private detectives. Tell me, Mr Bond. Did you come here on a whim or were you hired? Whatever. It is of no consequence. I find customers with such close ties to law enforcement make my other clientele nervous and I would rather that didn’t happen.” He raised a hand and I found myself flanked by two bouncers. “Good evening Mr Bond. Please do not come here again.” As the men grabbed my arms and started to drag me away, Silva added; “And stay away from my boy or you will both regret it.”

I’d like to say that I was escorted elegantly off the premises but the fact was, I was thrown out on my arse. As I picked myself up out of the puddle I’d landed in next to the bins I realised I needed to change tactics.

 

~00Q~

 

I knew that Q attended a local university but for the life of me I couldn’t remember which one so the next morning I jumped in my car and drove to my office. I had bought the Aston Martin on a whim the previous year. I didn’t usually drive into the city but I had a feeling that having my own transport would be integral to my plans that day. Inside my office I found what I was looking for. On the pad on my desk I found I’d scribbled a couple of words next to the birds and flowers I’d doodled whilst listening to Miss Moneypenny tell her tale.

Birbeck.

Maths.

I drove to Birbeck University and parked a street away. I had no idea where I might find Q but I was a fairly decent private dick after all and it didn’t take me long to discover where the Mathematics lectures were held. As luck would have it, there was one in progress so I found myself a bench, took out my newspaper and patiently waited.

It was a little after two o’clock when a throng of bright young things came out of the building across the quad from me. I scanned their faces and almost missed Q. His wild hair had been combed until it was almost sleek and he wore a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. He was dressed in a tweed suit and carried a brown leather satchel. I wondered if I might catch his attention but he was too busy chatting with a classmate so instead I strolled over. His eyes widened in fear when he caught sight of me. I plastered a grin onto my face and walked right up to him.

“Tommy my boy!” I exclaimed. “How the dickens are you?” Before he could react I gathered him into a bear hug and clapped him on the back. Stepping backwards I turned to the friend he’d been talking to and thrust out my hand. “How do you do! The name’s Bond. James Bond. Tommy’s mother was my cousin, God rest her! Makes us cousins… second cousins or once removed … I forget which one it is.” My bluster gave Q time to compose himself.

“James? This is Bertie, my study partner.” I smiled at the young man again. “What are you doing here James?” His question was innocuous but I could see the nervousness in it, even if Bertie couldn’t.”

“I’m in town for a couple of days and I thought I’d take you to lunch.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Q said dubiously. “I wish you’d called ahead. I was just going to study with Bertie, see if I can't help him out with a few areas he’s grey on before our final exam next week.”

“Nonsense!” Bertie piped up. “The exam’s not for days. You go and have fun with your cousin. We’ll meet up over the weekend.”

I was silently thankful when his friend bade us goodbye and left. Q watched him go and then turned to me. He looked thoroughly pissed off with me.

“James Bond, is it? I thought you were Richard Sterling?”

“A pseudonym.” I said. “I’m a private detective and I thought it best not to advertise that while I was visiting La Rata.”

He flinched at the name of the club and glanced around us nervously.

“Not here!” he hissed. “For God’s sake don’t mention that damnable place here.”

“Then come with me and have a spot of late lunch.” I soothed. “Are you working tonight?” He shook his head. “Good. It will only take a couple of hours. I owe it to Miss Moneypenny to have a conversation with you and then I’ll be out of your hair, I promise. If that’s what you want.” I added, hoping beyond hope that he might not want that. He sighed.

“Fine.” He groused.

I led him to my car and we set off. After a while he peered at our surroundings.

“Where are we heading?”

“To one of the best roast dinners you’ve ever had.” I replied.

 

~00Q~

 

We pulled up almost an hour later and got out of the car. He frowned as he scanned the terraced house I walked towards.

“What is this place?” He asked.

“My house,” I answered as I unlocked the front door and walked in. He trailed in after me, still clutching his satchel to his chest.

“I thought you were taking me out for lunch.”

“No. I told you I was taking you _to_ lunch. Lunch at my house. Now go into the front room and make yourself comfortable while I put the spuds on.”

I went into the kitchen and grabbed the pan of potatoes I’d parboiled early that morning. I took out the slow-roasting meat and dumped them in with it, stirring them around in the run off fat. I wasn’t sure they’d be as good as usual but I didn’t suppose Q got a home-cooked meal that often so I hoped they would do. I called through to the front room.

“Would you like a drink?” I was thinking of a before-lunch whiskey or vermouth but he called back;

“I’d love a cup of tea.”

“Of course you would.” I smiled to myself. I pulled out my old teapot while the kettle boiled. Grabbing a tray I found cups and saucers and sugar and milk and the strainer and spoons and took the whole lot through to the longue. As I entered I saw that he was standing by a small cabinet that housed the precious few ornaments I owned. He’d picked up a small sitting cat made of porcelain and was staring at it lying in his hands.

“My mother had one of these.” He said quietly. “When I was a little boy I would ask her if I could play with it and she would never let me. She said it was too fragile but she would let me hold it sometimes. I loved how smooth it felt.” I watched him as he carefully put it back onto the clean spot of the dusty shelf where it had been. “After our house burned down and the fire brigade said it was safe, they let me go in to see if I could salvage anything. I remember stepping on something that crunched and when I looked I realised it was the little cat.” He pressed the back of his hand to his lips and sniffed, his eyes suddenly watery. “Is it stupid, do you think, to mourn the loss of something so small and insignificant?”

I set the tray down and went to stand beside him.

“No. The smallest things can sometimes hold the most significance. You must miss her very much.”

“I do. It was us two against the world. I don’t really remember Dad but Mum… I miss her every day.” I wasn’t sure what I could say to make him feel better so I simply touched his elbow and said “tea”. He nodded and let me be mother before adding several large heaped spoonfuls of sugar to his cup.

We started to talk. He told me all about his life. Some of it I already knew from Miss Moneypenny but a lot of it was new. He told me about the moment he knew he was ‘different’. A neighbour’s twenty two year old son was invalided out of the war and came home when Q was eight;  
“He was dressed in his uniform and I ran to tell my Mum; ‘Mummy, Mummy, Clarence is home and he looks so handsome!’ When she asked me if I wanted to be a handsome soldier like Clarence when I grew up I shook my head and said no. I wanted to marry him.” I think Mum knew I was a homosexual before I did really and she never judged me for it. She always said that love was love and everyone was entitled to it but that some people had to be more careful about advertising it than others.” I said she sounded like a wise woman and he agreed.

I put on the veg to go with our dinner and then I told him about my life. I was honest – far more honest than I’d expected to be – about my drinking and as I talked I realised that my problem was a lot bigger than I’d been kidding myself. Q looked perplexed as I told him how I couldn’t go more than an hour without a drink and he’d frowned. When I asked him why he said;

“Because I’ve been with you for almost three hours and you’ve not touched a drop.”

“You must be good for me.” I joked and then we both fell quiet as I wondered if maybe it wasn’t a joke after all. I covered my confusion by going into the kitchen and having a large whiskey as I made the gravy. Q followed me and helped me by laying the small table in there as I dished up. I’d cooked him roast beef with Yorkshire pudding and all the trimmings and he fell to it like he hadn’t eaten for a month. I took great delight in giving him a second helping. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d cooked for someone and it was delightful to see him tuck in. Afterwards I gave him a huge portion of apple crumble and custard but when I offered him a second helping of that he just clutched his stomach and groaned, laughing. I laughed too and shooed him into the lounge, putting on a Count Basie album on low to keep him entertained while I washed up. When I went back into the lounge after I had finished, to see if he wanted more tea, he was sprawled out on the sofa, fast asleep. I slipped his shoes off his feet and lifted his legs up onto the cushions. I always kept a blanket across the back of my chair for the evenings when it was chilly but I couldn’t be bothered to build up the fire. I laid it over him.

I made myself a brew and then sat across from him in my armchair with my newspaper. I had read it cover to cover and done the crossword by the time he began to stir. He squinted muzzily up at me and then seemed to realise where he was. He sat up abruptly, fighting the blanket which he was tangled up in, as he straightened his glasses which had been knocked askew.

“Where are my shoes?” He asked. I pointed at the floor to the side of the sofa. He blinked at them, still half-asleep. “You took my shoes off me.” I nodded.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable.”

He stood up and quickly put them back on. His movements were jerky and uncoordinated. He stumbled as he bent over to tie his laces. I stood and put my hand on his back.

“Hey… slow down. There’s no rush.” He jumped like I’d shocked him and he backed away.

“Don’t. Just don’t.” He mumbled. “This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have…” I grabbed his wrist.

“Q…” I began. He pulled his hand away.

“Don’t!” he exclaimed. “Don’t call me that!” He took a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “Not here. Not after all of this. Not…”

I’d had enough of his panic. I couldn’t imagine what had got him so spooked. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him, pinning his arms to his body. He tried to push me away, struggling with his hands on my hips.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Thomas.” I murmured, brushing my lips over his ear and making him shiver. “Is that better? Thomas? Tommy? Tom? What would you like me to call you?” I turned my head and kissed his tousled hair. “Please don’t go Tommy. I don’t want anything from you I swear. I just wanted to look after you for a few hours. Talk to you. Try to understand why you do what you do. Was that so wrong of me?” He looked up at me.

“Why?”

“Because you’re young and you’re clever and Eve loves you very much. Because when a beautiful woman tells me that someone is special I’m inclined to agree with them. Because that club is a viper's nest and I think that Silva is unpredictable and in my experience, unpredictable men are dangerous men.” I released my hold on him but he didn’t move away like I expected. Instead he ran his hands up my chest and fiddled with my collar.

“You care about me.” He said quietly. I nodded, unable to take my eyes off his ruby red lips. He licked them and when I finally looked up I saw he was staring at me. “But you barely know me. Do you want me?” He asked. I nodded again. “Of course you do. And what if I said I just wanted to leave, would you let me?” I nodded a third time.

“I would. I would drive you myself. Wherever you wanted to go. Just say the word. I just want you to be happy.”

He hesitated and then surged forward, kissing me soundly. More confused than ever I held him close and kissed him back until a lack of oxygen had us both dizzy. I rested my forehead on his.

“What is it that you want Tommy?” I asked quietly.

“I want to go to bed with you.” He whispered back.

 

~00Q~

 

In all my adult years, I can’t remember ever being so nervous taking someone to my own bed.

I’d never bedded anyone in that house and it was a long time before moving there that I’d last made love to anyone. My sex life had been reduced to a series of meaningless fucks with women I’d paid for in cheap hotel rooms. It had been too long since someone had apparently wanted me for me and now I had this delicate, perfect boy kissing me and pulling at my clothing.

I took him to my bedroom and slowly stripped him naked, taking the time to run my fingers over every inch of him. I don’t think he’d ever been touched like that before, gently and with reverence, so I took my time, falling to my knees at one point to press my lips to the fading red lash marks that still criss-crossed his stomach. He kept trying to take off my clothes and I kept distracting him with kisses and caresses until I think he realised I was stalling him. Eventually he made me stand up and then shoved me back onto the bed. I landed with a bounce and he immediately crawled over me, unbuttoning my shirt and kissing my chest.

The truth was, it had been such a long time since I’d taken care of myself that I’d developed something of an alderman from all the booze. I couldn’t understand why he would want someone like me, so out of shape and unappealing but he simply didn’t seem to care. He ran his hands over my rounded gut and kissed my nipples and dipped his tongue into my belly button like I was Johnny Weissmuller or something. I remember shivering as he pulled off my trousers and underpants and ducked his head to kiss the tip of my cock. The sight of those red lips wrapping around me for the first time is something I’ll never forget.

I knew I wouldn’t last long with his tongue lapping at me so I pulled away from him and up the bed until I sat with my back to the headboard. I put my hand out to him and he scrambled to straddle my lap eagerly. He immediately grabbed for my erection and went to impale himself on it. I stopped him, holding his hips still.

“Easy lad,” I smiled up at him, “You really haven’t done this before have you?” He shook his head and blushed and looked so bashful I couldn’t help but kiss him again. “I don’t want to hurt you.” I crooned as I reached for a small bottle of oil that was in my bedside drawer. I’d bought it from a shady shop in Soho. It was marketed as an unscented massage oil but the men who purchase these things know their true use. I unscrewed the lid and covered my fingers. I kissed his jaw as I moved my hands around behind him, cupping his buttocks. “Let me make this good for you.” I whispered as I slid my lubricated finger over the furl of his arsehole. He rested his hands on my shoulders and whined as I massaged his opening, pressing the pad of my finger onto it with every third or fourth swipe. Once he’d seemed to relax I carefully slid the tip of my forefinger in.

He gasped and tucked his face down next to mine. I drew my knees up and spread my legs, pushing his apart even wider and making him feel how exposed to my hands he truly was. He whimpered and shuddered, his breath hot on my neck as I drew my finger out and then slid it back in slightly deeper. I slowly loosened him. I don’t know how long I took but eventually he relaxed enough that I was able to slip in a second finger. His cock, which softened slightly when I first penetrated him, hardened again. When he began to bump his hips in time with my lightly fucking fingers, it smeared its drool all over my stomach. Eventually I pushed him back slightly and I saw the way his eyes widened as I poured the oil over my cock.

“Are you ready for this?” I asked and without saying a word he shuffled forwards and sank down onto me.

Or at least, he tried to.

He managed to take about an inch of my cock and then got stuck. He was trying to force it in too fast and I tried to stop him, my hands finding their way to run up his sides and support his rib cage. He gasped and pulled off slightly before slamming down onto me again. It was too much. He was too tight, too hot, and I was overwhelmed too quickly. I made a sound like a wounded animal as an orgasm blindsided me. Pushing him off me, I quickly gripped myself behind the head of my cock and shivered as a single pulse of come dribbled out. I grabbed my balls with my other hand and tugged on them, hard. The orgasm abated and I sat with my eyes closed for a few moments, collecting myself. When I opened them again I saw Q lying beside me, a look of pure anguish on his face. He obviously thought he’d done something terribly wrong. I cursed myself for reacting the way I had and crawled over him.

“Beautiful boy.” I said. “Precious boy.” I kissed him deeply. “You see what you do to me? So perfect…” I kissed my way down his neck, his body, his thighs. “So sexy…” He whimpered as I took his cock in my mouth and pushed his legs open. I slipped my slick fingers into him again and tried to find the sweet spot inside him as I sucked. When he cried out and the fingers gripping my hair tightened, I knew I’d found it. He tasted bitter and sweet and I chased the taste, earning myself precious drops of the nectar as I pumped my fingers in and out of him. He shifted and I looked up to see that he’d hooked his hands under his knees, spreading his thighs wide wantonly. Christ. I still get hard just thinking about that now. He began wriggling as his orgasm approached so I used my free hand to press down on his belly, pinning him to the bed. He cried out again, thrusting his hands into his own hair and then he wailed, sobbing;

“Oh James! Please… please stop… no, you can’t… you’re making me… I’m going to…”

He arched his back and he tried to pull out of my mouth as his seed started to flow. He wailed again as he realised I was intent on keeping him there and on drinking him down. When his shudders started to lessen I pulled out my fingers and then quickly crawled up between his legs and replaced them with my cock. He was far more relaxed this time and I got halfway in before his body instinctively clamped down on me. Rather than try to sheath myself completely and hurt him I pulled out a little and started a slow to and fro motion, concentrating on nudging that sweet spot just inside him.

He stared up at me, a look of incredulous wonder on his face. I smiled back down at him. His face was flushed and his hair messy. I could see where my stubble had left red marks on his pale white chest. His cock, which had barely softened, lay in the crease of his thigh like a fat, lazy creature. As I started to increase my pace, it began to drool again, reacting to my teasing nudges. When my orgasm came the second time, it was slow and so good. I let it wash over me, stealing my senses as I came, filling him with my issue.

When I came back to myself I was slumped over him. I pulled out of him and he winced. Sliding my finger into his arse once more I took it out and inspected it for signs of blood. There were none. Nevertheless, when I went to the bathroom to piss and clean myself up, I picked up a small tube of antiseptic salve along with a warm damp flannel and a dry towel. I smiled as I went back into the bedroom as he hadn’t moved an inch except to fling an arm across his eyes. He was still lying there with his legs spread wide. I paused for a moment to take him all in before going to sit next to him. I carefully wiped down his belly before washing his cock and between his legs. Placing a small amount of salve on my finger I smeared it around his reddened arsehole, gently dipping inside. He hummed.

“That stings.” He muttered.

“Sorry.”

I took the towels back to the bathroom and dumped them in the bath. When I came back into the bedroom this time he’d sat up and picked up his discarded trousers.

“Tommy?”

“What time is it? I have to go. I have a lecture in the morning.”

“Please don’t.” I said. “You’ve missed the last train. Won’t you stay the night instead? I can drive you in the morning.”

He looked at me and hesitated before smiling.

“Only if you take off that ridiculous robe.”

I looked down at my dressing gown. I’d slipped it on without thinking.

“What’s wrong with my robe?”

Q quickly slipped under the covers of my bed.

“It stops me from seeing you naked.”

Without the heat of passion I felt suddenly embarrassed. I got into the other side of the bed before slipping off the offending garment.

“I’m honestly not sure why you’d want to see that.” I said as I lay down. He immediately snuggled up into my arms. He rested his head on my bicep.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, suddenly yawning. “I think I’m entitled to ogle the man who just popped my cherry.” I smiled at his turn of phrase.

“Even if he’s an out of shape boozer?” I asked, nervously. He looked up at me then, a strange look on his face that I just wasn’t used to seeing. He looked fond. He reached up and stroked my temple.

“I don’t care about any of that.” He said, his eyelids starting to droop. “Why would I care about that when you have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen?”

He fell asleep in my arms and I watched him for the longest time. When my nightmares came, as they often did back then, he was there with gentle hands and soft lips to lead me away from them.

But when I woke the next morning, he had gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond makes a mistake and Tommy pays the price.

I didn’t know what to do. Guilt and desperation warred inside me. On the one hand, I was startlingly aware that I had abused Thomas Carter. I had promised Miss Moneypenny I would do my best to help the boy and instead I’d fucked him. I felt like I’d tainted him after tricking him into coming to my house. But at the same time, the very thought of him made me giddy. I felt smitten and knew that I would be willing to do anything for him, if he’d only let me. I sat at my kitchen table in my robe, drinking sweet black coffee and chain-smoking cigarettes as I desperately tried to think of what to do next. I had initially lain in my bed thinking about Tommy’s predicament but it was too distracting; it smelt of him. The whole room smelt of him.

By eleven thirty I had made up my mind. I dressed quickly and jumped in my car. I was at Birbeck by lunchtime. I would take him away, I decided. I would pay up any debts he owed his landlord and offer him a safe place to live until he knew what he wanted to do next. I would see to it that he never went back to that fucking club or ever have to lay eyes on that snake Silva again. And if he didn’t want to see me either? Then I would understand and leave him be. I wouldn’t demand he make me part of his life. As long as he was happy, I thought, everything would be fine.

God does so love a fool and a drunk.

I found him quickly – his morning lecture must have just finished. There are certain images of that boy I’ll never forget and perhaps the view I had of him that day is one of my favourite memories. He was standing, laughing with his friends. He had a cigarette in his hand and was waving it around enthusiastically as he recounted some tale that was making them all laugh. He looked so happy... but when he caught sight of me, his face fell and settled into a scowl. I heard him excuse himself and then he walked over to me. Before I could utter a word he grabbed my arm and, with surprising strength for one so slim, he dragged me over to a corner of the quad. Once away from prying ears he rounded on me.

“What the fuck are you doing here again?” He spat. I was taken aback by his vitriol. “Are you trying to get me into trouble?”

“I wanted… I needed to see you again.” I stammered.

“I would have thought you’d seen quite enough of me last night!” He snapped. I couldn’t understand it. Where was the sweet boy I’d made love to the night before?

“I’ve been thinking,” I said quickly, hoping to placate him, “and I think I have the answer to your problems. I’ve been trying to work out why you keep going back to that place and realised that it must purely be the money. Am I right? Well you don’t need to do it anymore. I’ll pay Tommy. However much you need for college or your digs, I’ll pay for it and then you won’t have to go back to that hellish club ever again.” Instead of seeming grateful at my generous offer he slapped me hard across the face. I reeled, stunned.

“How dare you?” He hissed. “Why would you do that to me? That’s my payment, is it? That’s my payment for letting you be my first?” I opened my mouth to answer but my words failed me as I saw the unshed tears in his eyes. “How dare you offer me money? How dare you offer to take care of me after everything I’ve had to do? Everything that man has made me do?” He looked for a moment like he was going to slap me again before he suddenly slumped, the anger draining out of him. “I have it all planned.” He said quietly. “I told Silva I’d been offered a place here to do my Master’s degree. He thinks I need to work for him for another year. I don’t. I have a provisional place at another university. Hundreds of miles away from London. Providing I pass my last exam on Wednesday, I’m going to disappear at the end of next week. Just work my shift that night, collect my wages and then never come back. That’s my plan. That’s been my plan all along. For the past eighteen months I’ve done what I’ve done because I didn’t think I had any alternative.”

He looked up at me, raw emotion in his eyes. “And then you come along. You’re an alternative, aren’t you Mr Bond? You’re someone who could afford to look after me and keep me. I saw your house, the area you live in. You own that house don’t you?” I whispered ‘yes’. “You’ve come into my life and shown me that if we’d only met a couple of years before then I would never have gone to that animal asking for work. I wouldn’t have had to have done any of it. Gone through any of it. Isn’t that right?” He barked out a sudden laugh then. It was a hollow bitter sound. “I just bet you would have loved me too, wouldn’t you?” He added quietly. I nodded dumbly. He was right, I would have. I think I did already. He raised a trembling hand to his forehead and stroked across it, trying to regain his composure.

“No thank you.” He said, suddenly formal.

“No?” I wasn’t sure what he was saying.

“No. Call it pride but I won’t take your money because at this point I can’t. I just can’t. If I do, everything I’ve done, everything I’ve been through, will have been for nothing.” He looked so sad but tried to smile for me. “Please, you need to forget me. I shouldn’t… we shouldn’t have done what we did last night but I can’t bring myself to regret it.” I smiled at him, feeling a little like my heart was breaking. “You need to let me go. You need to let me do this on my own. Goodbye Mr Bond.” He turned to leave but I snagged his sleeve, stopping him.

“One thing? Please?” My voice was pleading but I couldn’t bring myself to care. He turned back. I drew out one of my business cards and pressed it into his hand. “When you get where you’re going, write me? Just a few lines to let me know you’re safe? I won’t come looking for you if you don’t want me to, I swear. Just let me know you’re happy?” He nodded and slipped the card into his top pocket.

We look back on our lives and we can clearly see the mistakes we've made.

One of my biggest mistakes was letting him go that day.

 

~ 00Q~

 

Unsurprisingly I left the university and crawled straight back into a bottle.

I drove to my office first, I couldn’t face going home only to be confronted by memories of the previous night. I picked up a brace of whiskey bottles on the way. I had intended to distract myself by going through my slush pile, those small cases that I’d promised I’d look into if I had the time, but as soon as I sat at my desk I started drowning my sorrows. I’d screwed up. I’d let my dick do the thinking and now I was banned from the club and the boy didn’t want anything more to do with me. The only saving grace was that he would soon be leaving London so at least there was that.

I awoke the next morning feeling like death. I deliberately didn’t allow myself to throw up so my stomach hurt something rotten as I tried to smarten myself up for the day ahead. I had no interest in feeling better, I wanted to feel like shit. Self-flagellation in its finest form. I took a case from the slush pile, as I’d intended to the night before. A woman from Islington had come in a couple of weeks before, convinced that her Chinese neighbour had eaten her dog. It was probably nothing more than a colossal racist objecting to a foreigner living in her street but I decided to look into it. The address she gave me was about five miles away and it was raining but the self-flagellation thing? I walked. I reckoned I deserved it.

The street consisted of mews cottages overlooking a communal green. The front gardens were small and most were formal apart from number twenty-three’s, the house belonging to the alleged dog-eater. The persistent rain had stopped about ten minutes earlier and I was pleased to see my quarry was working in his front garden. He’d given all the flowerbeds over to vegetables and I stopped as I neared him and asked him the name of a plant I didn’t recognise. I had a lovely chat with the chap and it turned out that Mr Rahman was a keen gardener and cook and his brother had kindly sent him some seeds from his home in Malaysia so he could try to grow his favourite vegetables. It was very important to him, he said, as he took his religion very seriously and didn’t eat meat at all. Case solved. One racist bigot. Because I really couldn’t bring myself to give a shit I bid Mr Rahman a cheery goodbye and went straight to the house next door and proceeded to stand on the doorstep and explain to the ignorant old bat (in an annoyingly loud voice) what a vegetarian was and how many thousands of miles Malaysia was from China.

I told her I’d send her the bill for my wasted day.

Feeling a lot better about myself I decided I was done with my self-inflicted punishments and found a café where I got something to eat before taking the train back to Waterloo. From there it was a short walk to my office to pick up my car and head home.

Little did I know, I wouldn’t set foot in that house again for another two months.

It was raining again and getting dark as I left Waterloo Station so by the time I’d got to the street where my office was I was soaked through. As I rounded the corner, no doubt thinking about my nice cosy front room and that day’s crossword, I noticed there was someone standing in the doorway. I could see their outline and the red glow of a cigarette tip. My stomach did a slow, nauseating flip as I realised it was Billy. He threw away his cigarette when he saw me. He looked grim.

“Billy?”

I knew. I swear to you, with God on high as my witness, I knew it was about Tommy before he even opened his mouth. He glanced about us.

“Got your car key mate?” Reaching into my pocket I handed it over, feeling like I was going to throw up. “I need to take you somewhere.”

“What is this about?”

Instead of answering, he shook his head.

“Not here. In the car.”

He walked around my car and got into the driver’s seat. He unlocked the passenger door so I could get in. Once we were moving I plucked up the courage to ask him straight.

“Is it Tommy Carter?”

To my mounting horror, he nodded.

“Someone’s done a number on him. A couple of bobbies interrupted the beating. He was unconscious by the time they’d chased the thugs off but they found your card in his pocket. They rang me because they know you and I go way back.”

“Where is he?”

“Somewhere safe. He’s been asking for you though.”

We arrived at a house in Stepney less than an hour later but for me it felt like a year. Billy couldn’t tell me how Tommy was because he simply didn’t know. As we parked up and went to go down the external steps to the basement flat, the front door of the house flew open.

“More men? Oh no you don’t sunshine. I’m not having that girl running a brothel in my own house!” A wizened old woman came out of the house dressed in a housecoat and brandishing a walking stick. Billy calmly walked up to her and showed her his warrant card.

“Sorry for the inconvenience Ma’am,” he began smoothly, “My name is Detective William Tanner of the Metropolitan Police and this is my partner James Bond.” She squinted at the card and then at me. I gave her a small salute. Billy lowered his voice. “The young gentlemen who was brought here earlier was witness to a brutal crime. We needed somewhere safe to hide him and Miss Moneypenny assured us of your unrivalled good character. She felt sure that you wouldn’t mind her using your property to assist the Metropolitan Police and it’s agents, and offered to take him for us. We’ll be gone by the morning.” The old crone seemed mollified by Billy’s bullshit and went back in the house. I went down to the flat and let myself in. I found myself in a long corridor which ran the length of the flat. I heard voices coming from the first room.

“Please darling. Just drink a little. I put some honey in it for you. I know how you love it sweet.” I walked in and was greeted by the sight of Tommy sitting in the middle of the sofa. He was wrapped in a blanket and Eve had her arm around him. She had a mug of tea in her hand which she seemed to be trying to get him to drink. He looked wrecked. His clothes were filthy and torn and one side of his face was covered in blood. His eyes were blackened and he was awkwardly slumped. When he saw me he started to cry and reached out for me.

“James!”

I rushed to his side and sat down next to him. I started to run my hands over him, checking to see where the worst of his injuries were. He was soaked through and his clothes stank something terrible. The bastards that hurt him must have left him in a gutter. Eve quietly set the tea down and left us.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He sobbed. “I shouldn’t have left you. I shouldn’t have turned you down.” He began to cry in earnest and I pulled him into a hug, holding him as tight as I dared as I ran my fingers through his hair. “I should have let you help me. I’m so sorry.” I shushed him and he rested his head on my shoulder. He was trembling like a leaf caught in a breeze. “You made love to me so gently… I would never have believed I could have given away my virginity so sweetly... I shouldn’t have left you… I should have stayed… I didn’t know… You tried to warn me… I should have listened...” He tapered off into hitching sobs and I kissed his hair as I curled around him and rocked him.

I glanced up and saw Billy standing in the doorway, a shocked expression on his face. I replayed what Tommy had just said and sighed. Tommy had just outed us as homosexual in front of a serving policeman. I thought we were in real trouble. Just then Eve came back in with a bowl and a cloth. I watched as she stroked Billy’s arm as she passed and they smiled at each other. I kissed Tommy’s cheek and then whispered to him that I needed to speak to Billy. He nodded and sniffed miserably as Eve started to dab at the blood in his hair. I walked out into the corridor.

“Please.” I begged. “Don’t arrest him. Take me. I’ll take whatever punishments they see fit but leave Tommy out of it. He’s got his whole life ahead of him. I can testify that I forced him.” Billy looked at me in disbelief.

“Are you a complete berk?” He asked.

“What?”

“Do you really think I’m going to arrest you for falling in love with someone society doesn’t approve of?” I must have looked blank so he stepped forward and said quietly; “Don’t you think I’ve just about had my fill of people telling me that they don’t approve of my choices?”

I realised then that I’d been underestimating the feelings that Billy and Eve had for each other..

“You and Eve.” I said, “You’re in love.”

He looked back towards the lounge door.

“Me, in any case.” He said sadly. “I’m not too sure about her.”

I smiled, remembering the way she’d looked at him.

“Aren’t you?” I asked.

At that moment Eve came out, a grim look on her face.

“I think you chaps are going to have help me.” She said.

“What is it?” I asked as we followed her in.

“I thought it was just the way he was sitting but I’m not so sure. Look at his left shoulder.”

I knelt down in front of him. He watched me owlishly as I pushed the blanket off him. Eve was right, the top of the shoulder was flatter than it should have been. I gently ran my fingers over it.

“I think this shoulder is dislocated, darling boy.” I told him. “We need to get this put right. The longer we leave it, the more painful it’s going to get.” He shivered and nodded.

“Will you take care of it for me?” He asked, his eyes wide. “Do you know how?”

I nodded. I’d done it a few times over the years.

“I can and I’m sorry but it’s going to hurt dreadfully.”

Eve suddenly piped up.

“I have an idea! Hold on for two minutes!” She dashed out of the flat. She came back a few minutes later with a brown bottle. She handed it to me.

“Mrs Caldicott, my landlady, suffers terribly with her arthritis when it’s cold. She uses these.”

I looked at the label. She’d handed me a bottle of heroin pills. Can you believe such a thing was still legal back then? I shook three of them out and picked up the mug of tea. I sat next to him again and put the pills in his hand.

“Can you take these for me please? They’ll help.”

Tommy nodded and obediently tossed them back before taking a swig of tea. I held him as we waited for them to take effect. Within five minutes he was drowsing and after ten he was asleep. I wondered if I’d done the right thing by drugging him so soon after he was knocked out but it couldn’t be helped. There was no way I would attempt to reset the joint for him without any pain relief. We carefully stripped Tommy to the waist so I could see what I was doing. Billy tried to send Eve out of the room before we started but the look she gave him could have withered grass so she stayed and helped. Resetting a shoulder isn’t always done like you see in the movies. It’s not always best to ‘snap’ it back into place. Instead I got Billy to hug Tommy tight, wrapping his arms around him to keep him still. I gripped his elbow and wrist, intending to manipulate the arm gently back into place. Eve knelt in front of Tommy, ready to talk to him and calm him down if needed. I didn’t want to rush but I needed to get it done as quickly and smoothly as possible. Taking a deep breath I began.

The shoulder went back in easily, thank God. In less than two minutes it was done, but what a hellish two minutes they were. Eve tried soothing him but as soon as I’d begun pulling on Tommy’s arm and twisting it to ease it back into place, he began to moan and by the time I was done I’d made him scream out twice. I could only hope that by the time he awoke, the drugs would make it difficult to remember the horrible thing I’d had to do. When he finally sighed in relief as the arm went back to its proper place, we carefully laid him down to rest for a moment while we planned what to do with him.

“Do we know who was responsible for this? Was it Silva?” I asked Billy.

“Not sure. Tom was on his way to the club to start his shift. He was accosted in the alley behind La Rata. Like I said earlier, his attackers were interrupted and ran off.”

“He doesn’t know who they are.” Eve interjected. “We were talking before you came in and he told me he didn’t know them.”

“Did they say anything during the attack?” I asked. She shook her head.

“Not one word.”

“The way I see it,” Billy mused, “There’s two possibilities. The first is that Silva ordered the hit. Maybe Tommy did something wrong, something that pissed him off.” I felt a flush of shame as I wondered if it was my doing. Perhaps Silva had been staking out my house. Perhaps someone knew he’d spent the night with me. Billy interrupted my thoughts by turning to Eve. “I’m sorry darling, this isn’t the best time to tell you but the body they found in the Thames? We’re almost certain it was Archie Lymington. According to his step-father he broke his leg when he was young. He had to have surgery on it. The corpse has a corresponding scar.” Eve’s eyes teared up at Billy’s words and I felt sorry for her. Her worst fears for the lad had come true. “Maybe being one of Silva’s boys is a short career and he sees no problem with getting rid of anyone he gets tired of.” I wasn’t so sure so I asked Billy what his other theory was. “The other thought is that this wasn’t Silva’s doing at all. We know that he turned down the Krays. What if this is their revenge? Maybe they’re systematically wiping out Silva’s employees? Maybe hoping that the police would make the connection and close in on him. Make life difficult for him.”

I pondered this.

“In either case, Tommy is right in the middle of it all and as such is in terrible danger.”

“He needs to get out of London. He needs to go somewhere safe.” Eve said.

“I know somewhere.” I offered. Billy looked at me, his eyes searching. “I can take him far away. Somewhere Silva will never find him. I'll set off tonight. I’ll need a few things from my house first though. A few essentials.” Billy nodded.

“You stay here and help Eve finish cleaning him up. I can swing by your place if you like.”

I wrote out a short list of what I wanted and his mouth quirked into a smile when he read the last item.

“Really? This is an essential, is it?”

Despite everything, I blushed.

“It is to me.”

Billy put the list in his pocket and, pausing only to kiss Miss Moneypenny’s cheek, he left.

 

Eve told me she was going to run a bath for Tommy and left the room. He was already stripped to the waist so it took me no time to finish undressing him. I covered him in the blanket and picked him up, marvelling at how light he was. He moaned as he was shifted and I kissed his brow. Taking him to the small bathroom, I saw that Eve had finished drawing the bath. She stepped aside and left the room, saying she was going to put the kettle on. I dropped the blanket and lowered him into the water. He sighed and his eyes cracked open when he felt the warmth of the water.

“James?” He mumbled. I picked up the flannel and lathered it up before beginning to rub it over his thin chest. “Are you… Are you going to take care of me now?”

“Yes, darling boy. I’m going to take care of you now.” He sighed and his eyes closed again. I continued. “I need to take you away first though my love. I need to take you somewhere that’s safe. Is that OK?”

“I just want you to take care of me…” He whispered.

By the time I’d finished washing him he was snoring lightly. I took the time to wash the blood out of his hair. As is often the case with head wounds, it had bled profusely but the cut itself was very small. It could maybe have taken a couple of stitches but I thought it would heal just as well without them. Once he was clean I let the water drain out of the tub before wrapping him in a towel and lifting him out. Eve was waiting outside the door and she led me to her bedroom where there was a pair of pyjamas laid out on the bed.

“They’re all I can offer him.” She explained ruefully. I assured her they’d be fine and thanked her. She left the room again so that I could dress him. The pyjamas top was made of a hideous blue and brown paisley material and trousers were plain blue, I can picture them now. They were too big for Tommy and if they didn’t belong to Billy… well, I would have eaten my own hat. Once he was dressed I tucked him up in the bad and went to join Eve in the lounge. I found her smoking a cigarette and sipping a cup of tea. She’d made me one and I took it before sitting down beside her. After a few minutes of sitting in silence and drinking, she spoke.

“He loves you, you know. He kept saying it when he first got here.”

I looked at her in surprise.

“He hardly knows me.”

“Even so.” She carried on smoking her cigarette and we sat in silence for a couple of minutes. She spoke again as she stubbed it out. “I know a couple. They were in the same class at school for years. When they were both nineteen some friends set them up on a blind date. That night they talked each other properly for the first time and by the end of the night he told her that he loved her and wanted to marry her.”

“What did she say?”

“She told him to bugger off. She said he’d had too much to drink and to ask her again at Christmas. That was in the September I think.”

“Did he?”

“Oh yes and the following August they were married.”

“What happened to them? Did it work out?”

“Three days before their first wedding anniversary they had me.”

“Your parents?”

Eve smiled at me.

“I asked my dad once why he did it. He was always so sensible it seemed completely out of character for him. He told me ‘sometimes your heart just knows’.”

I pondered her words. Was that what had happened to me? Were my feelings for Tommy more than some giddy obsession with a pretty boy? Was I actually falling in love with him? I noticed Eve was smiling at me.

“I think your heart knows too.”

~00Q~

Would surprise you to learn that Q, the erotic nightclub performer, died that night? He died right around the time that I put that precious boy in the passenger seat of my car. I wished that my car had a back seat big enough to lay him down on but like an idiot I’d bought the two-seater model. Billy had returned with the things I’d asked for and I headed north with Tommy wrapped in the comforter from my own bed. I left Billy with the address I was going to and a promise that I would ring him as soon as I could. Eve hugged me and handed me a packet of sandwiches and a flask of tea. I’m forever grateful for everything they did for us that night.

I drove for twenty hours through the dead of night and the next day. I stopped a couple of times for petrol and once to help Tommy take a leak by the roadside. It would have been better for him to be able to rest in a bed but I was obsessed with getting him to safety. He was shaky and sore all over so I paused long enough to feed him a sandwich and some tea before giving him another couple of pills. Once he was asleep again I carried on.

I arrived at Skyfall at dusk. The estate’s manager Kincade and his wife, the housekeeper, must have spotted the car from their small cottage that stood a little way back from the main house as they were standing by the front doors by the time I’d driven down the long driveway. I jumped out of the car to greet them.

“James!” Kincade exclaimed. “As I live and breathe!” I shook the man’s hand and then hugged his wife.

“I need the master and the spare bed making up please Mrs Kincade.” She bobbed a curtsy and bustled off into the house.

“You should have let us know you were coming.” Kincade said, following me to the car. “It would have given the missus a chance to air the rooms for you.”

“I’m sorry. We had to leave London in a rush.” I opened the car door and bent to lift the still-sleeping Tommy out. As I straightened up Kincade asked;

“And who’s this?”

For a moment I couldn’t answer him. I couldn’t tell this man the truth. Homosexuality was not only illegal but to most decent people, people like the Kincades, the very thought of it was abhorrent. How could I tell them that this was the man I was smitten with? A man that I’d slept with and wanted to spend my life with? As I struggled to answer him I realised I was exhausted. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept. I suddenly felt Tommy start to slip and I couldn’t summon up the strength to hang onto him. Kincade saw what was happening and immediately stepped forward. He slipped his hands underneath mine and took Tommy’s weight. He rephrased his question.

“What’s his name Son?

“Thomas.”

“Let’s get Master Thomas inside shall we?” He took Tommy from me and we went into the house.  I felt a strange sense of déjà vu as I followed Kincade up the stairs and into my old bedroom. Mrs Kincade was in there and had just finished putting the bottom sheet on the mattress. She quickly put the pillow slips on and then Kincade laid Tommy down. I helped Mrs Kincade to unwrap him from the comforter and made up the rest of the bed over him, adding another sheet, two blankets and a candlewick bedspread while Kincade built up a small fire. It was the middle of summer but the house had thick stone walls and it soon chilled in the evenings. Kincade left the room and I went to sit in the chair besides the bed.

“Oh no you don’t laddie!” She grabbed my ear, just like she used to when I was a boy, and twisted it sharply, making me stand up. “You’re dead on your feet and you need your sleep. You’ll not get it lollygagging in a chair all night!”

“I need to stay with him!” I tried to argue but that woman had been ruling me with an iron fist for as long as I could remember so when she tugged me along to the master bedroom I went quietly. She pushed me inside.

“Go to bed James.” She said gently. “I’ll watch over the lad tonight and come get you if he wakes. You’ll be no good to him if you’re ragged. Shall I get Arthur to call the doctor for him?” I nodded.

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“We’ll get him here for the morning.” She reached up and stroked the side of my face. “What happened to you James? You don’t look like you’ve been looking after yourself at all.” I closed my eyes as a feeling almost like grief flooded over me. I couldn’t answer her. When she put her arms around me I leaned into her embrace. “You’re home now. You’re safe. Go and sleep and it will all seem better in the morning.”

I was sure that, despite my exhaustion, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all but when my head hit the pillow I went out like a light and slept for twelve hours straight.

~00Q~

The next morning I bathed and found an old change of clothing in my wardrobe before heading back to the room where Tommy was. Mrs Kincade was dozing in the chair and I stood for a moment in the doorway watching them. I loved Marnie Kincade, I always had for as long as I could remember, since well before my parents died. I think I started to love her even more afterwards though. She was always there for me, as quick with her cuddles as she was with her reprimands. She, more than anyone, helped to keep me honest as a child.

I switched my gaze to Tommy’s sleeping face. His bruises had bloomed since his beating but he still looked beautiful to me. I wondered at that moment which one of these two people I loved more but I couldn’t tell. The love I felt for both of them couldn’t be compared.

As I prepared myself to leave the room, part of me was glad that he hadn’t stirred. If truth be told, I was scared. Scared that he’d be angry with me for taking him so far away from London and his life there. Scared that he would wake up and not want me. I lingered for a moment longer, drinking in the sight of him before Mrs Kincade stirred and I quickly left before she spied me standing there. I had business I had to attend to. I could have done it in the village which lay a couple of miles away from Skyfall but people in small towns gossip so instead I decided to drive to Fort William which was about an hour up the road. Once there I found a bank and got myself a huge pile of coins before setting up camp in a public telephone box and starting to make calls.

My first was to Tanner. As luck would have it, he was at his desk. He spoke quietly, no doubt to avoid being overheard at his end, and the line was bad but I got the gist; he’d been to La Rata and he was ninety-nine percent sure that Silva wasn’t responsible for the attacks. He’d gone in flashing his badge and asked Silva outright if he knew of a young dark-haired boy who’d been found beaten to death in the alley behind the club. I had closed my eyes in silent thanks as he spoke. With just a few words from Billy, Silva thought that Tommy was dead. If I could just keep him away from the city he was safe. Free. I said nothing though and listened as he finished his tale. He’d told Silva about Archie Lymington’s fate and Billy said he’d been almost apoplectic with rage.

“Not the reaction of a guilty man, mate. I’d bet my life on it. He seemed genuinely furious that someone seemed to be targeting his boys.”

I asked him to do me one more favour. He agreed and five minutes later I was dialling my next number. Being a private detective meant that I’d had the habit of keeping London phonebooks in the boot of my car. You never knew when you might need to look someone up. I used these now to make several calls. I was hunting for something specific. Something that I hoped would help Tommy. Four hours later, after a visit to the local department store, I was back on the road to Skyfall.

It was raining again as I reached the house. I dashed from the car to the lobby with a paper parcel for Tommy under my arm. For the first time that day I felt good. Not physically but mentally. Physically, I wasn’t doing so well. I hadn’t had a drink for over a day and my cravings were growing. My hands had trembled so badly in the phone box I’d mis-dialled numbers more than once. My withdrawal was making me feel ill but I’d achieved so much with my telephone calls and I couldn’t wait to tell Tommy some of my news… Some of it though I decided to tell him later, once I had a firmer answer to some of the questions I’d been asking. My good feelings evaporated though as I saw Mrs Kincade bustling down the stairs.

“Where have you been?” She complained. “That boy’s distraught and won’t say a word to me. What have you done to him James?”

I felt a coil of unease.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I don’t know!” She exclaimed. “He woke up just before Doctor Kressler got here and was a sweet boy. After the doctor left I could hardly get a word out of him though and when I tried to get him to eat some breakfast he told me to just leave him alone. I don’t mind telling you that he used some quite colourful language too!”

I sighed.

“I’m sorry Marnie.” I said, “He’s had a terrible time of it recently but that’s no reason to be rude to you. I’ll have a word with him. Could I trouble you to rustle us up some lunch while I go and see to him?”

She crossed her arms, looking irritated but I wasn’t buying it. I knew she had a soft heart for those who needed other’s help.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting a pot of tea with that too, will you?”

I kissed her cheek.

“You’re a diamond Mrs K.”

She swatted my arm as I turned to run up to Tommy’s room. I went straight to my old room and paused with my hand on the knob. I felt momentarily lightheaded after racing up the stairs. Taking a deep breath to settle myself, I went in. The room was in semi-darkness as the curtains were closed but there was enough light for me to see that Tommy was curled up with his back to the door.

“I told you I didn’t want to talk to anyone.” He mumbled.

“Mrs Kincade said you were rude to her.” I said loudly, crossing the room to yank open the curtains. “Please don’t do that.”

I tied back each curtain in turn and by the time I looked back he was sitting up, staring at me. The too-large pyjamas were hanging off one shoulder and his hair was tousled. He looked adorable. He blinked up at me.

“She said you’d gone. I… I thought you’d left me.”

“I went to Fort William,” I clarified. “I had some business I had to attend to.” I tossed the paper parcel at him. “I bought you some things. A change of clothes. Some clean underwear. I think it’s the right size.”

He fingered the parcel, his eyes brimming with tears.

“She said you’d gone and I asked her where I was. We’re in Scotland of all places! And then the doctor came and he told me that I wouldn’t be able to travel for a week… James I’m going to miss my final exam. All that work. I’m going to have to repeat the whole year…” He looked down at the parcel again, his tears spilling over. “I thought you’d deserted me.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve looking utterly miserable. I went to him then and sat on the side of the bed, handing him my handkerchief. “I just feel so bloody awful.”

“That will be the knock you had to your head. I’ve seen it before – a chap gets a bump to the noggin and it can mess with their emotions for a day or two. Try not to get too upset. Listen, I spoke to Billy Tanner.” I told him what Billy had said to Silva and then added; “Billy’s going to visit Birbeck for you. He’ll tell them that you’ve been in an car accident. They let you retake any missed exams in the summer if you have a good enough reason for missing them, don’t they?” Tommy nodded and looked a little brighter.

“Mid-August, usually.”

“When you feel up to it I can take you to the phone box in the village and you can ring the university, the one you’ve applied to do your masters at too, if you like. You can let them know what’s happened.” I took his hand. “I promised to take care of you Tommy. I’m sorry if I’ve made things more difficult for you.” He squeezed my hand back and looked like he was about to say something but at that moment Mrs Kincade came in with a tray for us. He slipped his hand free and blushed.

“Mrs Kincade, I’m very sorry for being rude earlier.”

She put down the tray and shooed me off the bed. She briskly plumped Tommy’s pillows and settled him to sit back against them before straightening the bedding.

“Oh, that’s alright child.” She soothed. “I could see you were upset.” He smiled at her and she pinched his cheek before handing him a plate of sandwiches. “Of course, if you use such language around me again I’ll tan your hide from here to John O’Groats!” He smiled as she fussed over him and poured his tea. I grinned at them. I had a feeling that despite their shaky start they would become firm friends.

I stepped back to give her more space and stopped as the room around me started to swim. I shook my head but that just seemed to make it worse. I felt like I was underwater and the light in the room suddenly seemed to darken and shift. I turned my head when I felt a pressure on my wrist and saw Mrs Kincade was stroking my arm. She was speaking but I couldn’t understand anything she was saying. I opened my mouth to tell her she wasn’t making any sense but as I did a feeling like cool liquid seemed to swell up my spine and when it reached the base of my skull everything went black.

I was only vaguely aware of crashing to the floor and then I knew nothing more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James recovers and finds out just what Q means to him.

 

 

 

When I awoke it was dark outside.

I stared up at the ceiling and tried to remember what had happened.  It was all a blur.  

Half-remembered nightmarish memories swam around me.  Silva had found us.  He’d brought men with guns in a helicopter and Skyfall had burned to the ground but that couldn’t be right because I was lying there in my own bed in my own room.  Another foggy memory told me Tommy had been raped and murdered in front of an audience who screamed like howling wolves in evening dress but if that was the case, then who was the young man that slept next to me, curled on top of my bed covers?  A hundred, no a thousand, different distressing memories assailed me and I shivered as I struggled to make sense of them all.  One terrible memory, perhaps, was true at least.  Tommy distraught; crying, holding the palm of my hand to his cheek and begging me to wake up.

I lifted my head and saw that the sideboard had been turned into a temporary nurse’s station.  Bowls, towels and medicine bottles were all lined up in a neat row.  Had someone been sick?  Had I been sick?  I was as stiff as a board, every muscle ached and I felt damp, like I’d been sweating.  I wondered if I was getting better.  Still wondering, I drifted back off to sleep.

 

The next time I awoke, it was to someone calling my name.  I opened my eyes and saw Mrs Kincade’s smiling, worried face above me.

“Oh James,” she said softly, “There you are.  I can’t tell you how I’ve longed to see those precious blue eyes of yours again.”

“How long have I been out?” I croaked.  She poured out a glass of water and, sliding her hand under my head, helped me to take a sip.

“You’ve spent ten days delirious, all told.”  I couldn’t believe it.  So long?  She continued: “We called Doctor Kressler back when you collapsed in Tommy’s room and it was a good job we did.  He was here when you had your first fit and he was able to help us care for you.”

“I had a fit?”

She put down the glass and stared at her hands.  I’d never seen her so sad.

“How much were you drinking before you came here James?” She asked quietly. “I thought I saw the signs when you first came home.  My old dad died of the booze so I should know them shouldn’t I? But I said to myself; ‘No. Not him.  Not my wee bonny James.  Not the boy I loved and helped raise almost as my own.  Not him.’”  She looked up at me then, tears brimming and if I’ve ever felt like a lowlife heel, it was right then for causing that lovely lady pain.  “But it was, wasn’t it?  What was so bad James?  What was so bad that you turned to drinking rather than come home to those that love you?”

I didn’t have an answer for her.  The truth was, I didn’t know.  I didn’t know why I’d let myself slide so low.  Instead I struggled to sit up and I hugged her fiercely.

“I’m sorry.” I muttered.  “I’m so sorry.  What can I do to make it up to you?”  I knew what she would say but I needed to hear it so I could make my vow to her.

“Never touch another drop James.  Would you do that for me?  Will you promise me?”

I nodded and swore I wouldn’t and to this day, I never have.

 

Mrs Kincade ran me a bath in the small private bathroom off my bedroom and, with her help, I sank into it gratefully.  I had virtually no strength in me but I made the effort as it felt so good to be getting clean.  When I was done I brushed my teeth and then stumbled back into the bedroom to see that she’d changed the bedding and built up the fire.  Like a child I let her help me to dress in a fresh pair of pyjamas and sat on the edge of the bed obediently as she towel-dried my hair.  Once it was relatively dry, she tucked me back up into bed, sitting up against the headboard.

“Don’t fall asleep now.” She chided me as she saw my eyes slide shut.  “I’m going to the kitchen to fetch you some soup and I’ll expect you to try to eat at least some of it.”  I struggled to stay awake as she gathered up the dirty bedding.  “I’ll tell Tommy you’re awake.  He’ll keep you roused for a moment I should think.”  She bustled out and moments later he came running in.  He paused for a split second as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and then rushed to me.  Throwing his arms around me he held me tight.

“James!  You’re awake!”  He kissed the side of my neck briefly before pulling away. “I was so worried.”

I drank the sight of him in.  His bruises had almost completely faded and he’d got a new pair of glasses from somewhere.  His eyes were shining and he looked healthy.  He looked so good.

“I’m sorry,” I said – I seemed to be doing a lot of apologising that day – “Can you forgive me?”

He stared at me for a couple of seconds and then leaned in very slowly and deliberately and kissed me softly.  I froze for a moment, stunned and scared that I might frighten him away before I ran my hand up his arm to his shoulder.  I gripped it lightly and tilted my head, so I could deepen the kiss.  He sighed before breaking away to rest his forehead on mine.

“I can but only if you promise to never scare me like that again.”

“I’ll try not to.  I promised Mrs Kincade and I’ll promise you now.  No more booze.  I swear.”

He frowned and then kissed me again.

“I hope not.  I’ve just got used to being around you, you see.”

I stroked his soft hair back off his face.

“Then I’d better hang around a spell longer, hadn’t I?”

He shuffled back a little and fiddled with the bedcovers.

“I helped Mrs Kincade look after you.  It was awful James.  You kept shaking and shouting.  One night you didn’t stop crying and I sat with you all night.  I think… I don’t know what she thought…  I wouldn’t leave you.  I started sleeping next to you so I could be with you.  Helped keep you… care for you.”  I grimaced at the thought what of this lovely young man might have had to do.  He must have seen something in my expression.  “No.  James, it was alright.  I didn’t mind.  You helped me, I helped you.  It was only fair.”

I frowned.

“I wish you hadn’t had to…”

We were interrupted by Mrs Kincade coming back into the room with a tray.

“Right James!  I want to see you try to eat some of this.  Doctor Kressler will be angry with me if I don’t see to it that you’re fed.”  I smiled at Tommy.  I suspected the good doctor had very little to do with her ambition to feed me up.  “And you can stop smirking at young Tommy there!” She groused as she placed the tray in my lap.  There was a bowl of chicken broth which smelt wonderful.  Alongside it was a pile of bread and butter, two mugs of tea and a letter addressed to me in handwriting I’d recognise anywhere.  “I want to see all of that gone by the time I get back.  Get Tommy to help you.  He’s not been eating properly either, fretting over you.  Slip of a lad like him can’t afford to waste away!”  She left again and I started eating.  I managed no more than a few mouthfuls before my stomach started to rebel.  I had no clear memory of the previous ten days but I don’t suppose I’d eaten much.  I pushed the soup towards Tommy instead and watched as he began to eat before picking up the letter.  I opened the envelope and scanned the contents.

“I don’t believe it.” I said, shocked.  Tommy stopped spooning the broth into his mouth at my words.

“What is it?”

“It’s from Billy Tanner.  Listen to this;

_James_

_I haven’t heard anything from you for a few days now and I don’t mind telling you I’m getting a little worried.  I hope you and the boy are alright.  I thought I’d write as I have some pretty shocking news.  I was called over to Camden last night to reports of a suspected arson attack.  It was La Rata.  Someone burned it down to the ground.”_

I looked up.  Tommy had gone as white as a fish.  I looked back to the page and carried on;

_“The firemen on scene called us when they found a corpse in the ruins.  Totally burned up of course but the autopsy has confirmed it’s of a largish man, maybe five-eleven.  He was found face-down in a back office with a knife protruding out of his back.  Official line is that it’s Silva.  Maybe someone didn’t like him knocking off his own boys, maybe it was a turf war with the Krays after all.  No-one at the Yard seems to care either way and they’re not going to be wasting too much time looking into it.  The general consensus is that it’s good riddance to bad rubbish…”_

I looked up again and saw that Tommy was trembling.  I put the dinner tray to one side and held my arms out to him.  He immediately curled up against my chest and I held him for a spell.  When he sat up again he was calmer.  Wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand he sniffed and said;

“Read out the rest of it.”

I picked up where I’d left off.

_“… Silva struck me as a dodgy kind of gink and he probably had it coming but it’s Eve I feel sorry for.  That wizened old bitch who called herself her landlady found out she’d lost her job and took no time in kicking her out.  She’s at mine now, lodging in my spare room until she can get herself another gig…”_

I looked at Tommy and grinned.

“Lucky old Billy…”

 

Despite everything, that summer was one of the happiest I can remember.

The day after I got the letter I began to exercise.  Short walks at first but they gradually got longer.  In those first weeks I went from barely being able to stand for more than a few minutes to walking to the front gates of the estate and back.  The driveway is half a mile long and the first couple of days I tried it, I couldn’t get that far but I soon improved.  That wasn’t to say I was miraculously cured of my addiction overnight though.  I took to my bed twice more that fortnight and on the second occasion the doctor had to be called but each time I awoke from my fevers I found Tommy by my side.

Billy wasn’t the only one feeling lucky.

After almost a month I was well enough to accompany Kincade on his walking patrols of the estate and Tommy would tag along, hanging on my every word as I described everything I knew about the history and the landscape surrounding the house I grew up in.  We had fallen into an easy routine, me and Tommy.  We didn’t sleep together but he was quick to come to me for cuddles or hold my hand when we were out walking and we were sure no-one could see us.  Eve and Billy had been accepting of us as a couple but we didn’t want the Kincades suspecting anything.  And in any case, now that Tommy was free of the influences of Silva and his customers and able to concentrate on planning his future, I wasn’t actually sure that he would want me for anything other than the close friendship we’d formed.  That all changed one night at the start of August.  I’d been fast asleep and awoke to a gentle shake of my shoulder.  I had a habit at Skyfall of sleeping with my curtains open and I could see by the moonlight coming in through my window that Tommy was standing beside my bed.  I squinted up at him.

“Everything alright?”  He shook his head and shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.  He was dressed in only his pyjama trousers and he looked chilled.  Without thinking I pulled back my bedcovers. “Get in for a minute.”  He immediately obeyed and then snuggled down, curling into my chest as I settled to covers over him.  I kissed the top of his head.  “What’s wrong?”

“I had a nightmare.” He whispered. “It was awful and I can’t shake it off.  Every time I close my eyes…”  He trembled and I hugged him to me. “Can I stay with you?  I promise I’ll be gone before Mrs Kincade comes back…”  Mrs Kincade had been spending a lot of time at the house recently and she had a habit of arriving at first light.

“Alright,” I mumbled, already half-asleep again. “Just don’t let her find you in here…”

When I awoke the next morning I found the sun was streaming in through the bedroom window… and Tommy curled up, still fast asleep in my arms.   I instantly shook him.

“Tommy?  Tommy! You need to go back to your own bed.”

He shifted up against me and he slid the hand that had been resting on my chest down so he could trace his fingers over the strip of flesh between my rucked up pyjama shirt and trousers.

“…’ll be alrigh’…” He slurred, still mostly asleep. “…Kincades aren’t coming today… s’Sunday…”  

He nuzzled into my neck as his hand slipped a little lower and began to stroke over my hip.  I pulled back to look at him.

“What do you mean ‘it’s Sunday’?”  As long as I could remember, the Kincades had popped in every day.  They lived close by in their cottage and I knew that Mrs Kincade loved to use Skyfall’s kitchen, especially for their own Sunday roast.  Tommy smiled and shifted up against me again.  This time I realised how hard he was getting.

“They usually go to church every Sunday and then spend the day with friends in the village.  She told me they wouldn’t be calling here at all today.”

I would have liked to have seen the church that wouldn’t burst into flames when that old rogue Kincade walked into it but I said nothing.  I smiled when I guessed that maybe Tommy and I hadn’t been as subtle as we’d thought.  We were being given some privacy.  I reached out and stroked my hand down his naked flank.  I frowned when my hand moved around to the small of his back and didn’t find the waistband I’d expected.

“Tommy?”

“Hmm?”

“Where are your pyjama bottoms?”

He frowned.

“Um.  On the floor maybe?  I’m not sure… it was very warm in here last night…”

“Tommy?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you actually have a nightmare last night?"

“Oh I did…” He pressed himself up against me more firmly and began to rub his erection more insistently on my hip.  His hand moved to rest lightly over my own cock.  “I dreamt that you never made love to me again…”

I chuckled as I realised I’d been played and rolled until we were pressed together, belly to belly.  I slipped my hand down over his buttock and smoothed the tips of my fingers into the crack of his arse.

“That sounds terrible.” I breathed against his lips . “A devious little minx like you not getting the diddling he deserves…”

I took him slowly.  There was none of the urgency that there’d been our first time.  I’d been embarrassed to ask Billy to pick up my oil when he went to my house in Twickenham but now I was glad I had.  I used it as I fingered Tommy open.  He was so relaxed by the time I rolled him onto his side and spooned up behind him he was able to take all of me in.  I fucked him slowly with long strokes, burying myself up to the hilt on every forward motion. Once he was totally comfortable he hooked his leg over my hip, spreading his legs wide.  I placed my hand under his thigh and held him like that as I upped my pace.  I encouraged him to touch himself and watched as he reached down and began stroke his cock with the same rhythm I used to fuck his arse.  Eventually it became too much for him and the clench of his body as he reached his orgasm wrung my own from me.

Afterwards, as we lay panting, I rested my forehead between his shoulders.

“Thank you.” I whispered.

He rolled over to look at me and tenderly stroked my face.

“Why are you thanking me?” He asked.  Concerned at the emotion he must have seen on my face he kissed me. “James?”

“I wasn’t sure that you still wanted me.” I admitted.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked.  Bless him, he looked so confused.

“I’m so much older than you,” I started, “and I drink too much…”

“You drank too much.” He corrected.

“Alright, I drank too much and I took advantage of you when I shouldn’t have.  I shouldn’t have touched you at the club and then I took you to bed at my house when you were upset and…”

He stopped me talking by kissing me soundly and then he pressed his fingertips to my lips.

“Stop.” He admonished. “Stop right now.  You didn’t do anything that I didn’t want.  Would you like to know why I was so upset at your house?”

I nodded.

“I worked for Silva for almost nineteen months all told.  I started off as a stripper and then he started offering me extra money.  I could earn a week’s rent for my poxy little bedsit by spending just one hour with a customer in one of the club’s private rooms.  I could earn two weeks rent by agreeing to do that awful floorshow with Trevelyan.”  He closed his eyes and grimaced.  “I tried telling myself that it was all fine.  It wasn’t like they were fucking me.  It wasn’t like I was prostituting myself, but that’s exactly what I was doing.  I was just a whore who wouldn’t go all the way.”

“Tommy…”  I said his name softly but he ignored me.  I think he needed to get it all off his chest.

“The men.  They would all treat me the same.  They would tell me I was beautiful.  They would go on about how perfect I was but they all wanted the same thing.  Not one of them offered to help me or asked why I was doing what I was doing.  They just took and took and took.”  He looked up at me and then smiled.  Tears made his eyes sparkle.  “And then you came along and you were so sweet to me.  You didn’t want to take, you wanted to help and you made me feel like you cared about me as an actual person.  You didn’t even want to touch me until I told you how much it hurt.”  He kissed the side of my mouth.  “And then you took me home and made me dinner of all things!  And we chatted and we got along so well and when I fell asleep you didn’t try to take advantage of me.  You took care of me…”

He faltered and I kissed his forehead when he started to cry.

“I remember waking up… and for a moment it felt like I was at home again.  I opened my eyes and I half-expected my mum to be there.”  His shoulders began to shake. “When I realised where I was it was like losing her all over again and still you were right there with me.  Holding me, calming me.  When you told me you just wanted me to be happy… I just didn’t want it to be over… I wanted to keep feeling safe… That’s why I wanted you to take me to bed.  Partly because I could see that it was what you wanted but mainly because you made me feel so loved.”

I wrapped my arms around him as he sobbed and kissed his hair.  When he'd calmed down he spoke quietly.

“When I woke up early the next morning I watched you sleep for almost an hour but I knew I had to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because I felt myself falling in love with you.  I was scared because I knew I’d been wrong to do everything that Silva asked of me.  I’d thought I’d had no choice but meeting you…”

“It made you feel ashamed.” I suggested quietly.

“Yes.”

“And what about now?”

He sniffed and pressed his face to my chest.  His next words were quiet; shyly spoken.

“I find I have fallen in love with you quite completely Mr Bond.”

I squeezed him to me.  My heart felt like it would pound out of my chest.  I huffed out a laugh.

“It’s Commander, actually.”

He looked up at me, a soft expression of surprise on his face.

“Really?  There’s so much about you I don’t know.”

“When you have the time, I can regale you with all my exploits in the Navy, my life in London before I met you…”

“I’d like that,” he smiled.  His face then dropped.  “I do have one slight problem though…”

“Oh?”

He wriggled and suddenly rolled on top of me.  Sitting up straddling me, he placed his hands on my stomach.

“It’s this gorgeous belly of yours.  It’s disappearing!”

I looked down, suddenly amused at the upturn in his mood.  My stomach was indeed slimming down.  A lack of booze, good eating and the amount of exercise I’d been doing was having its benefits.  I could tell you I’d been doing it all to recover from my alcoholism but if truth be told, I _had_ wondered if I’d ever be able to keep up with Tommy in bed if he wanted me as a lover.

“You liked me heavier?” I asked.

“Mmmmm.”  Tommy ducked down and began kissing my sternum.  “I loved the way you pinned me down the first time we made love.  I felt safe weighed down under you.”  I shivered as his kisses drifted lower.

“And you don’t think it would feel as good now if I were to pin you down and kiss you senseless?”

“Oh, I’m not sure…” He licked into my belly button.  “However could it?”

He giggled as I suddenly surged up and threw him back onto the bed.  Immediately crawling up over him I dropped my head to nibble at his earlobe.

“Let’s try out that theory, shall we?”

Turns out, it felt just as good.

 

There was one more notable event that summer at Skyfall.  I’d started to receive answers to my telephone enquiries but it was a few days before we returned to London that I finally got the answer I had been waiting for.  I searched the house for Tommy, the letter clutched in my hand.  I found him in the library, his nose buried in a book.  He looked up in interest as I came in and handed it to him.

“Read it.” I said, excited for him to discover the contents.  He set his book to one side and began to read it out loud.

 _“Dear Mr Bond, Following your telephone enquiry on behalf of Mr Thomas Carter regarding the property at 7 Provost Road, London”_ He glanced up at me, confusion on his face. _“I have spoken to our North London area manager Mr Reginald Smith and he has confirmed that your client’s mother did indeed insure the property with The Prudential Insurance Company and named her son as the sole beneficiary.  Mr Smith’s staff have been trying to locate Mr Carter ever since the sad demise of his mother.  If you could arrange with Mr Carter to attend our office, at his convenience, we can finalise the settlement of the policy…”_

He trailed off.

“What…” His voice was strangled.  He coughed and tried again. “What does this mean?”

“Miss Moneypenny told me you mother paid into an insurance policy and you lost the documents.  I thought if I could track down the company…”  He looked stunned. “I phoned every company listed in the London phone books to see if I couldn’t track down the right one.”  I took his hand.  “This is yours Tommy.  This is your future.  You can use this money to go where you want.  Do what you want. You should get enough to buy your own pad.  Maybe not a house but certainly a flat or…”

“I don’t want it.” He cut in abruptly.

“You… what?” I couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“I don’t want it.  I don’t want any of it!”  He stood up and turned away, striding over to the fireplace.  I felt terrible as I saw him drop his head.  I think he was trying to control his emotions.  I walked over to him on legs that suddenly felt like jelly.  Reaching out, I brushed his shoulder.

“What did I do?” I asked quietly.  “Did I do wrong?”

He turned to look at me, distraught.

“I don’t want it!  Any of it!  I want to stay with you!”

I suddenly realised what he was thinking.

“Oh no.  Tommy no.  That’s not how this is.  I’m not telling you to leave.  I’m not saying you have to get your own place.”  I stepped forward and hugged him to me.  “Did you think I wanted you to leave me?  No darling no.  I just want you to have what’s due to you.  What your mum wanted for you.”  He hugged me back.

“I’m sorry.  It’s the thought of leaving here.  I’ve been so happy and I’m going to miss you so much when I go to study again.  I can’t bear the thought of being apart from you.”

I tilted his head so I could kiss him as sweetly as I knew how.  Once his eyes had fluttered shut and his lips looked rosy and slick I whispered against them;

“What on earth makes you think I’m not coming with you?”

  
  


We travelled back to London on the fifteenth of August.  The re-sit of Tommy’s last exam was on the seventeenth.  I was still experiencing a few problems with my health, the occasional momentary blackout or bout of trembling, so we decided to leave my beloved car behind.  Kincade drove us to Edinburgh where we took the overnight sleeper train.  Tanner was there to meet us at the station and take us back to his small rented house in Wimbledon.  Eve met us there and immediately pulled Tommy into a huge hug on the front doorstep.  I laughed at his feeble attempts at escape until she turned to me and did the same.

“Thank you for taking care of him Mr Bond.”  She said into the side of my neck.

“James, please.”

She nodded and released me before taking us inside.

We spent a lazy day at Billy’s before we all went into central London together on the day of Tommy’s exam.  He was practically vibrating with excitement.  Billy and Eve had visited the bedsit he’d rented a few weeks before and cleared out his things, paying off his landlord.   As a result he’d been able to spend the twenty-four hours before we set off for the university pouring over his textbooks and re-reading his notes.  Eve was heading to an audition so Billy and I took a stroll for a couple of hours before taking up a table in a café where she and Tommy could meet up with us once they were free.  Apparently the audition was at an exclusive hotel who needed a new resident singer and it had been Billy who’d organised it. We each ordered tea (my days of buying Billy a pint were over but he didn’t seem to mind) and we began to talk.  We covered a myriad of subjects before Billy suddenly went quiet.  I asked him what was wrong.

“There’s something I need to tell you.  I don’t think you’ll like it.  It’s about La Rata.” He said slowly.  

“There’s been a turn up.”

My blood ran cold.

“A woman came into the station a week or so after the fire and reported a missing person.”

I waited as he took a sip of his tea and collected his thoughts.

“The man was her husband and she said he worked at La Rata.  She hadn’t seen him since the night of the fire.”

A feeling of dread settled in my stomach.

“What was his name?”

“Alec Trevelyan.”

“He was one of the men I met at the club.  Silva’s number two, I’m sure of it.”

“It gets worse.  She gave us his description.  By all accounts, he was exactly the same build and height as Silva.”

I sat in stunned silence.  What if that animal Silva wasn’t dead?  What if his devoted assistant had paid the ultimate price for his loyalty?

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking.” Billy said. “What if Silva bumped off his own man and then torched the club to fake his own death?  I spoke to my chum at the International Criminal Police Commission and he did a little digging.  There was a similar case in Madrid a few years back – a club with known criminal connections was torched and the owner was found dead inside.  That time the owner was a man called Tiago Rodriguez.  There’s very little known about him apart from a statement taken from a former club patron which describes him as having ‘unusually pale hair’.”

I felt sick.  We’d thought that he was dead.  Tommy would never have come back to London if he’d thought for even a second that Silva might still be alive…

“There is a silver lining though, if you’ll pardon the pun.  The club fire in Madrid happened just a few weeks before La Rata opened in London so if he did fake his own death and he’s following a tried and trusted modus operandi…”

“He’s already moved on.” I said.  My mouth felt dry and I took a sip of my own tea. “He won’t hang around.  He’s probably already left the country.”

“I didn’t want to write you with any of this.” Billy said.  “I haven’t told Eve and I’m not sure that Tommy would want to know either.  Maybe it would be better if they never knew…”

“If who never knew what?”  Eve plonked herself down into the empty seat next to Billy, making us both jump.  He recovered quickly.

“If they never knew how much I adore you Buttercup!”  He slung his arm around her shoulder and placed a resounding smacker of a kiss on her cheek and she giggled, slapping his arm.  I asked her about her audition but I kept half an eye on Billy.  He was right.

They didn’t need to know.

 

~00Q~

 

Tommy aced his exam.  Of course he did, he was my little genius.  At the end of August we bought a van and loaded up the contents of my house.  I drove us down to a little seaside town called Dawlish where I’d rented us a house.  By then we’d fallen into the habit of lying to cover our relationship so we told our landlord our ‘story’.  We based it on the lie I told at Birbeck.  I was Tommy’s deceased mother’s cousin, I’d say.  Tommy was my only living relative so I’d taken it upon myself to support him through his studies.  If that story didn’t wash with some people, Tommy would take them to one side and speak in hushed tones of my poor wife who’d died trying to give birth to my stillborn son.  I accused Tommy of being overly dramatic the first time he told me he’d used the tale on someone but he’d shrugged.  He was studying pure maths– it was easy for people to believe he was a boffin devoted to his work, he said.  I was more of a problem.  I was of an age that I should be married.  My fictional terrible grief gave me the perfect excuse to remain a bachelor.

Tommy began his studies at Exeter University and to keep myself entertained I began to draw.  Remember I said I habitually doodled?  Well once Tommy started spending time studying I began filling my days by sketching and painting.  Dawlish is so beautiful and I was inspired.  A local shop owner spotted me painting the view of the seafront one day and by Easter he was selling prints of my work.  It doesn’t make me a lot of money but it keeps me out of mischief and it's something I enjoy.

The following June we spent a long weekend in London.  It was our last ever visit to the city.  We found that it just had too many bad memories and we hadn’t reallyplanned on ever returning.  We made an exception though and went one last time to attend the marriage of Billy and Eve.  I always joke to Billy that he helped Eve out after La Rata and then helped himself.  He usually tells me to piss off with a grin on his face but he can’t deny it.  The wedding was lovely and the reception was held in the hotel where Eve was working.  When Eve got up with the band to sing for her new husband, I stole Tommy away to the garden and we danced under the moonlight together to the music coming through the open windows.  I held him close and recited the vows that Billy and Eve had shared earlier.  I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to marry legally – I think we’ll be lucky to even be accepted as a couple – but in my heart, I promised myself to him completely that night.  The next day we had to contend with Eve’s shrieking excitement as they realised we’d given them the deeds to my house in Twickenham as a wedding present.  They were welcome to it and I told her so.  They did so much to help Tommy and me when we really needed it.  We still keep in touch, even since they’ve moved to America.  It turned out that Billy was rather good at finding Eve work so he retired from the force and became her manager full time when they went.  I hear she’s quite the toast of the town now.

When Tommy graduated we moved to Manchester.  He started working with the team that are working on those thinking machines - ‘computers’ - following on the work started at Bletchley Park by Alan Turing.  The irony is not lost on us.  He tries to explain his research to me sometimes and I think I’ve perfected my ‘I have no idea what you’re saying’ expression.  He always ends up rolling his eyes at me and then I have to kiss him for being cheeky.  Have you guessed yet that I’m still crazy about him after all these years?  I like to think he still loves me too.

Or he did.  I’m not sure how he’s going to feel about me after he gets home tonight though.  Billy and Eve write to us regularly and it was one of Billy’s letters that started this whole thing off.  The one with the clipping.  I’ve kept it hidden for a week while I’ve collected my thoughts and written all this down but last night Tommy asked me if I was alright so I know he thinks something is up.  I told him I was just excited about our move to New York.  He’s been given the opportunity to join a team at their University for a year on an exchange program and I’m naturally going with him.  I’m not sure what he’s more excited about – the prospect of continuing his work with a totally new team with a reputation for groundbreaking research or the fact that we’ll finally get to meet Billy and Eve’s children.  They have two daughters who, if the photos are to be believed, are growing up to be every bit as gorgeous as their mother.

Once again I’m looking at the clipping that started all my reminiscing off.  I keep going back to it like a dog worrying a bone.  It’s a report of civil unrest outside a club called Stonewall in Greenwich Village and I know that seeing it will break Tommy’s heart.  Billy wrote that he showed it to Eve and she didn’t speak to him for a week but Tommy?  I’ve only been dishonest with him once in all our time together and that lie is about to be revealed.  It’s the picture you see.  The grainy picture of the police squaring off against the protestors.  Not the main fight though.  Not the homosexuals and their allies running scared.  Not the police with their riot gear and guns.  It’s the man standing in the doorway to one side and smoking, watching it all.  The tall man with Latino features and unusually blond hair.

How am I going to tell him that Silva is in the city we’re heading to?

 

I have to go.  I can hear Tommy’s key in the front door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for all the cheerleading, especially the wonderful cassellate/releasetheglitch, without whose awesome prompt, none of this would have happened.
> 
> As to the cliff-hanger...
> 
> I left the story where I did because, to be honest, when I originally wrote the story it was always just going to be about Bond and his memories. In point of fact, I was initially clueless as to how Tommy would to react but as I edited and posted the chapters I started to get an idea... It's not written yet but there will be an epilogue. Watch this space. :-)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you'd like to join me, I'm still doing my thing over at iambid.tumblr.com. Flailing over cute kitties, hot actors and men who, in all likelihood, are displaying a bit more flesh than their mother's would approve of.


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